Love on the Edge: Nine Shades of Romantic Suspense, page 130
“Maybe, but it keeps a healthy flow of cash. Something this agency requires in abundance—something I shouldn’t have to remind you.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He eased off the desk.
“You know, as well as I do, Tamsyn would leave and open her own agency if we don’t back her.”
He shook his head. “It’s dangerous…and more than a little unsavory.” The idea of his sister pandering to men’s baser instincts made him feel about one step above a low-life pimp.
“She’s careful and her instincts are excellent. Plus, she has Justin for backup.”
“Which means it takes two operatives for each assignment and costs more time-wise. I can’t believe you, of all people, support her efforts in this.”
Carrie removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “This is an old argument, and since Justin’s on salary like the rest of us…” She shrugged and turned her attention back to her keyboard.
“I still don’t have to like it.”
Something suspiciously like a groan emitted from his sister. “You’re wasting my time.”
“All right, I’ll get out of your hair. You’re the money person.”
“And don’t you forget it either.” She flashed him a hungry shark’s kind of smile.
Lucky for him, the phone rang. While she reached to answer, he escaped into his office and walked over to the tall windows overlooking First Avenue. Nice view of the Cumberland. The gray-green river flowed smoothly. Down on the waterfront, colorful flags flapped in the July morning’s breeze.
Carrie had done the office decorating and saved the firm a ton of money. Simple brocade drapes framed the long windows. The oak bookshelves came from one of the antique shops on Third Avenue. She’d arranged plants and family photos on some of the shelves. His old books from law school filled the rest, a poignant reminder of what he’d given up.
Still, he’d never regretted his decision to leave law school. Maybe on occasion, when he heard a classmate’s name mentioned on TV in regard to a newsworthy case, there was a twinge of regret. Just proved he was human.
A man did what a man had to do. His father always had and Scott couldn’t do any less.
He sat at the antique, leather-topped desk and leaned back in the modern—make that comfortable and ergonomic—leather chair. With his nine o’clock canceled, he had time to do a little skip-tracing on their youngest sister, who’d run away four years after their parents died. Any of his spare time went toward finding a new lead…one which wouldn’t be months old and lead to another dead-end.
Still the image of a certain redheaded detective teased his mind’s eye, no matter how he tried to concentrate on finding his sister.
*
Three hours later, her Starbuck’s coffee was a memory and the squad room’s version bore no resemblance to its superior counterpart. This was strong and thick, and tasted as if someone laced it with acid, but Detective Tess O’Malley sucked down the brew as if it were mother’s milk.
She needed to get busy on background for the Brennerman case, but she couldn’t help the quick flash of memory to the obnoxious guy behind her at the Starbuck’s—admittedly also damn hot guy.
A shadow shifted in her peripheral vision. She glanced up in irritation and watched her partner, Detective Sergeant Denton Kozinsky shuffle into the squad room and set a cold case file box on her desk.
“What the hell is that?”
“Just what it looks like, toots.”
“A cold case? We don’t have time. We’ve got—”
“Hold on. While you were paying a small fortune for your morning cup of Joe, the powers that be had a powwow. We’re off Brennerman.”
Her stomach clenched and her temper threatened to boil over. “Why? Just because we haven’t made any progress? It’s early days in the case. There’s a ton of background—”
Kozinsky cleared his throat. “Just in. They found the kid’s body.”
A rush of nausea hit her, but she swallowed the bitterness. “When? Where? Why weren’t we informed? We’re the primaries.”
“I was just informed and you’re being informed right now. We were the primaries. As for this cold case, I was the primary back in the day. Check the name.”
She read the side of the file box.
“Mason?” She shook her head. “I don’t recall a Mason case.” Then her brain made the connection to one of the more sensational murder cases in Nashville history. “I got it. Fourteen years ago, a kid from camp. His body was found a week later. Strangled and buried under a pile of leaves.” Now, fast-forward to the present. “Todd Brennerman also went missing from the camp.”
“Bingo! Give the lady a cup of Joe.”
“So you were the primary on that one. I had no idea. I was sixteen and glued to the TV when he was found. There has to be a connection between the two—right?”
Kozinsky nodded. “Oh, yeah. Same camp. Whether or not it’s the same M.O. remains to be seen.”
Dreading what she’d find, Tess lifted the file box lid anyway. “Let’s get busy.”
Her hand paused as she reached the crime scene photos. Richard Mason looked even younger than his stated age of sixteen. His nude body had been placed in a fetal position. A T-shirt covered his face and head with his jeans folded neatly beside him. One of his tennis shoes was found in the shallow grave. Only one.
“The killer took a souvenir?”
“That’s what we figured at the time.” Her partner rubbed his chin. “The missing shoe was our holdback—at least until someone leaked it to the press.”
A thousand possibilities raced through her mind. “We need to have another look at everyone connected with the camp. See if anyone from that time was there this time. How many are we talking about?”
Kozinsky rubbed a hand through his wiry gray, brush-cut hair. “It’s all in the file, but best I remember off the top of my head, there were four counselors. Several teachers, too. Total of thirty-six students at the camp the year in question—half of them girls—guess we can eliminate them, or we’d be up to our asses in suspects.”
“We already are.” The morgue photos were even worse that the shots taken at the crime scene, clearly showing the bruises on his neck and wrists. “He was strangled, but not before he’d been bound and uh…” She shivered as she read the rest of the details.
“One sick bastard did that.”
Tess stood. “Come on. Let’s go. I want to see the scene where they found Brennerman. Maybe we can clear both cases.”
“Ain’t gonna happen. We’ve been ordered to step back and focus on the cold case.”
“We’re actually being sidelined for the cold case? How come?” Dammit. Just when her career was about to skip another rung up the ladder. Finding Brennerman’s killer could make her career. Making captain by forty would’ve been a cinch. Sidelined for the cold case—even if the two cases were related—man, that sucked. Probably the good-old-boy system at work again.
“The Brennerman case is high profile. We’re not high enough up the food chain. The lieutenant’s handling this one…personally.”
She shot her partner a twisted smile. “Of course he is. Can’t miss an opportunity to get his mug on the evening news.”
“He’s not so bad. Looks out for the squad.” Kozinsky shrugged his burly shoulders. “Can’t blame him for being on the fast track.”
More than one could play the fast track game. “I can blame him if I want to. He’s a pompous ass who owes his position to his uncle being the police commissioner.”
“That’s the way it goes.” He slipped on his reading glasses and shot her a pointed look. “Not like you don’t have some pull in the family department yourself.”
“Not true!” She shook her head. “My father did everything he could to keep me off the force.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” he sighed. “And your three brothers, too.”
“You made my life a living hell.”
“Promised ’em I’d make it hard on you.” A broad smile spread cross his rugged face. “But you wouldn’t budge. You hung in there. Showed us all.”
She took a sip of the bitter brew and swallowed with a grimace. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to give up.” Her brothers and her captain father set the bar pretty high. They always had, but dammit, she was just as good a cop as her brothers. Better. And she’d certainly been a better student. Yet, on the job, she still had to prove herself every time she was assigned a new case. So if the lieutenant wanted her to clear a cold case, she’d do it. “Okay, how many of these suspects do you figure are still in town?”
“Most of ’em.” Kozinsky pulled out his chair and sat with a thud.
A snigger erupted, in spite of her best efforts to hold it back. “You gotta lay off the thick crust pizza. I swear your chair just groaned.”
“Did not.” He tossed his crumpled coffee cup at her.
She swatted it back, knowing full well she couldn’t win an argument with her partner of three years. “If it’s the same guy, why fourteen years between? Where’s he been? Prison? Out of state?”
“Good questions. I expect you and your nimble fingers will find the answer on that danged computer.” He sniffed as if above depending on a high-tech source. “As for me, I’ll…”
“I know. I know. Dogged footwork. That’s the ticket.”
“Yep. Dogged determination and footwork.”
“But with these danged computers, we’ll eliminate some of the footwork and spend more time on the ones we like for it.”
It was a familiar argument, and another one she wouldn’t win with her fifty-five-year-old-partner. But she could push his buttons. “Say, aren’t you ready for retirement yet? I hear there’s a bar for sale down on Second. I wouldn’t mind a new watering hole.”
A chuckle. “I’ll retire when pigs fly or when they stop making rounds for my service weapon.”
Tess spent the next thirty minutes going over the interviews from the Mason case. She entered the names into the system. Kozinsky was right—no surprise. Most were still living in Davidson County. One name struck her as freakishly familiar. Holt, Andrew Scott—yeah, the Starbuck’s guy. “You know this one? Andrew Scott Holt.”
“PI—does a good job I hear. Office over on Market Street—Holt Investigations. His folks died ’bout ten years ago—drunk driver. Anyway, he left law school to take over the family business and put the rest of ’em through school.”
“Quite an undertaking. How many were there?”
“Been a while. Let’s see if my memory bank’s working today…five or six.”
“Hm. Matter of fact, I met him this morning at Starbuck’s. Now I think about it, one of my brothers might’ve played football with him in high school.”
“Why don’t you start with him then? Trot over to his office. It’s not that far.” Kozinsky winked.
“Good idea. Think I will.” She winked back. “See—I’m not afraid of a little footwork.”
*
Scott ushered his one o’clock from the office. The client’s inquiry was routine. She wanted the agency to run a background check on a financial counselor before she invested. Smart lady. Before he could fire up his computer and email Justin with the request, the intercom buzzed. “Yeah?”
“There’s a Detective O’Malley to see you.” Carrie’s tone was amused, but he wasn’t. What could the detective possibly want? Had she changed her mind about dinner? Or was she going to cite him for being a public nuisance, after all.
Chapter Two
Tess eyed the office of Holt Investigations. Historic building, brick interior walls built about the same time as the First Avenue warehouse where she lived in a converted condo. And her condo was a mere block away. Dammit. They were neighbors.
The receptionist was close to Tess’ age, early thirties, slender, well-dressed and attractive with dark blond hair cut in a sleek bob and wide green eyes behind a pair of rimless glasses. She shoved the glasses up on her nose and grinned. “I hope you’re not here to arrest my brother. I’m Caroline Lackey, the office manager.”
Correction noted. Not the receptionist. “Any reason I should?”
“Oh,” Ms. Lackey drawled, “he might’ve mentioned meeting you this morning.”
Again the playful grin. “This is business—not personal.”
Ms. Lackey’s eyebrows rose. “Straight back, Detective.”
Tess nodded and kept her tone businesslike and neutral. How odd that today, of all days, she’d have a run-in with one of the suspects in a cold case before she’d even been assigned the case. In spite of Davidson County’s over half-million residents, Nashville still felt like a small town. On any day, no matter where you went, you could count on running into someone you knew.
Ms. Lackey shot Tess an amused sort of smile and went back to her work. So Holt mentioned their meeting? Didn’t matter. Tess had Scott Holt’s number. He was tall, dark and delicious with smoldering brown eyes; he was exactly the kind of man she normally avoided. In other words, he was bad news…even if he wasn’t already a figure in her cold case.
Approaching Holt’s office, she hesitated before knocking. The question remained—was the man who’d given up law school to support his siblings the same one who might’ve sodomized and strangled a teenage boy?
Jumping to conclusions was never a good idea. He’d only been questioned in the cold case because he was one of the four camp counselors. Which meant a mere twenty-five percent chance he was her suspect in the Mason case—not great odds. But not too bad, either.
She tapped on the door.
“Come in, Detective,” she heard him say through the door. His voice was warm and resonant. The richness of his tone kicked her heart into a higher range and left her a little too breathless for comfort.
Opening the door, she found Holt on his feet, his hand outstretched to greet her. She crossed the wide-planked, heart-of-pine floors and took his hand. The warmth and strength of his handshake disturbed her on a deeper level. What was she doing? Cops didn’t shake hands with suspects.
“Have a seat, Detective O’Malley.” He gestured to one of two Hunter-green, Mission-style leather chairs. She perched on the edge of her seat while he walked around the desk, sat and leaned back. Clearly, the man was comfortable in his territory and on his terms.
Drat, he was every bit as hot as she remembered. A bit over six feet tall, Holt was lean and broad-shouldered. He smiled with good humor, crinkling the skin around his eyes. His dark hair was cut GQ short, but the front lay in unruly wisps on his forehead like a child’s. His suit was charcoal gray and obviously expensive. Instead of a starched shirt and tie, he wore a gray V-necked T-shirt.
Business casual. Definitely at ease with himself.
He scratched his head as if puzzled. “How can I help you, Detective? Or have you come to take me away to the slammer for having the temerity to ask you out to dinner on such short acquaintance?”
His tone was soft and playful…seductive. Well, she’d bring him down in a hurry.
“Mr. Holt, I’ve been assigned a cold case. You might remember it—the Richard Mason case? His murder was never solved.”
Holt’s smile faded as he sat forward and leaned his elbows on the desk. “I’m not likely to forget Rich Mason—not as long as I live. I was questioned about it then. Now you’re back for another go-round.” His gaze traveled to the windows, then back to her. “I heard on Channel Five they found the Brennerman kid today. Stands to reason you’d want to talk to me since the deaths involved the same camp. Go ahead. Ask your questions.”
She pulled out a notepad, then settled back in the chair. “Tell me what you remember about the summer Rich Mason was murdered.” Pen poised, she kept her gaze on him for a reaction.
His expression grew pensive as if he traveled back to that summer. “I was twenty and I’d completed my sophomore year at Vanderbilt. Actually, I was a semester ahead. My father and stepmother were still alive, so life was good.”
She held up her hand. “More specifically, tell me about the gifted camp.”
“I was getting to it. Fourteen years is a long time so I’m just trying to set the scene in my mind. Don’t want to leave anything out. If anything I remember can help…” He closed his eyes for moment before opening them to look at her again. “Believe me, I want to help.”
“Go on. Do it your way.” Likely he did everything his way—control issues.
“I hadn’t planned on doing the camp gig again, but my dad said it was my duty to go. I’d been a student at Camp Einstein when I was younger. It was expected I would go back and offer my services as a counselor every summer while I was still in school.”
“Why didn’t you want to go?”
He flashed a wry grin. “I’d had a rough two years, carrying a hellacious case load at Vandy so I could finish in three years instead of four. Plus, I still had law school ahead of me and then after passing the bar, I’d be working to establish my career. I just wanted to have a good time that last summer—no responsibilities.” He shrugged. “But I manned up and went.”
“Tell me what happened at the camp.”
“It was held in July.” Holt steepled his fingers, but his forefingers tapped as if he were nervous. “Thirty-six students—the crème de la crème of Tennessee’s high school students. They ranged from fifteen to seventeen. Good old Camp Einstein—better known as Camp Nerd—had the usual arts, math, science studies, but the owner added swimming and horseback riding. Kids were bright and focused. No serious problems with any of the campers until Rich disappeared.”
“When was he seen last?” She scribbled as fast as she could. Hopefully, she’d be able to make out her chicken scratches later.
“The other counselors and I had done bed check at nine. Rich was in his cabin with five other boys. We had eighteen male students in three cabins. When it came time for roll call the next morning, he was nowhere to be found. His bed hadn’t been slept in, either. We reasoned he might’ve snuck out to see one of the girls, but they were all accounted for. We combed the woods looking for him—nothing.”
