Tactical Advantage. Julie MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
had ended up with Roy putting the same moves on her that he was putting on Blondie tonight? Only Annie had been too sober and not nearly as interested in exploring the possibilities as Betsy apparently was.
But he’d proven too nice a neighbor—when he wasn’t in party mode—for Annie to hurt his feelings. “Yeah, Roy. I’ve got someone waiting for me.” So maybe that someone was a detective she wasn’t really looking forward to seeing. But at least she wasn’t lying. “Be safe.” She nudged them both into Roy’s apartment. She even had a smile for Betsy. “You, too. Remember, no driving.”
“Not to worry,” Roy promised. “We’ll be spending the night right here. Together.”
“Oooh, Roy,” the woman cooed, sliding her fingers into Roy’s dusty-brown hair and pulling him into his apartment.
Feeling grossly uncomfortable, unwelcome and unnecessary as the giggles and kissing resumed, Annie shut the door and hurried down the stairs. After looping the pink strap of her bag over her neck and shoulder, she pushed open the outside door and the shock of the wintry night air nearly stole the breath from her lungs. She pulled on her gloves and waved to the neighbors who were now writing their names in the air with sparklers.
Hunching her shoulders against the bracing wind, she set out across the snow-dusted courtyard toward the fenced-in lot across the street where her car was parked.
She was alone and dateless on yet another holiday, babysitting the grown man next door. Now she could look forward to spending the next few hours with her nemesis, Nick Fensom, and a crime scene where a woman had been brutalized and killed, all while freezing her fingers and toes.
Happy New Year, indeed.
* * *
“HEY, GUYS—KEEP IT DOWN, okay?” Nick Fensom apologized for the loud piano music and fourth verse of “Auld Lang Syne” coming from the living room where his family was toasting the New Year with sparkling grape juice and prosecco. He moved down the hallway, farther away from the three generations of Fensoms and extended family who had gathered at his parents’ home to celebrate. “Yeah, Spencer, I know the address. Hell of a way for that woman’s family to ring in the new year.”
“Which is exactly why I’m not letting time or the weather get in the way of finding answers. I’m tired of that bastard staying one step ahead of us.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Spence.” The piano music stopped and the boisterous conversation among his father’s parents, his mom and dad, his mother’s younger brother and his own five younger brothers and sisters faded into the dining room and kitchen. Nick opened the coat closet off the foyer and pulled down the metal box where he stored his badge and sidearm whenever he visited the house where he’d grown up. “Let me say some goodbyes here and explain the situation, and I’ll be there in twenty, thirty minutes, tops.”
“Sorry to tear you away.” Although their looks and personalities were as different as night and day, Nick and his partner for three years, Spencer Montgomery, had grown as close as Nick was to either of his brothers. “Did your grandmother make her tiramisu cake?”
Nick chuckled at the rare wistful softening in Spencer’s voice. “Stop by the house later today and I’ll make sure Grandma saves you a piece.”
“I’ll do that.” Just like that, the glimpse of the human being beneath his partner’s buttoned-up exterior vanished. “I’ll be at the morgue if you find anything useful. In the meantime, I want you and Annie to go over that alley with a fine-tooth comb. If there’s anything—or anyone—close by that makes you suspicious, check it out. And call me.”
“Does Pee Wee know I’m coming?”
“It’s CSI Hermann. Or Annie.” Spencer chided Nick’s inclination to tease the petite coworker with the wildly curly dark hair and apparent immunity to his charms. “And yes, she knows. So be on your best behavior. I need her to focus all those smarts on the crime scene—not on trading quips with you.”
“I’ll mind my manners if she does,” Nick promised. “I’m on my way.”
He snapped his phone shut and unhooked his belt to fasten on his holster and detective’s badge. Then he grabbed his insulated black leather jacket and gloves and headed toward the noise from the heart of the house.
Nick paused for a moment in the kitchen archway to watch his mother, grandmother and oldest sister, Natalie, cleaning up second and third helpings of meatballs and soup and homemade bread. His middle sister, Nadine, was dancing in front of the microwave to whatever tune was playing in her earbuds while she waited for a bag of popcorn to pop. His father got a playful smack on the knuckles and a shooing from the room when he sneaked a molasses cookie from the desserts still on the table. His two brothers, Noah and Nate, and Nell, the baby of the Fensom family, were probably back in the dining room, dealing out another hand of penny-ante poker with their grandfather and Uncle George.
Nick’s chest expanded in a sigh that revealed a mix of happiness and regret. His hand drifted down to the gun belted at his waist. He hated to leave the bustle and conversation, the good food and fun. But this was why he answered calls like Spencer’s in the middle of the night—to protect his city and the people he loved. The sooner he and the task force could put away the Rose Red Rapist, the sooner he’d stop worrying—a little less, at any rate—about his mother and grandmother and sisters being safe on Kansas City’s streets.
But his mother, Trudy Fensom, was equally worried about him once he explained Spencer’s phone call and the need to get some eyes on the crime scene ASAP. “That poor woman. But...tonight? It’s New Year’s.”
“Mom, I gotta go. The bad guys don’t celebrate the holidays the same way we do.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back for breakfast.”
“Be careful, Nicky,” his grandmother, Connie, warned.
She got a kiss, too. “Always am.”
His dad, Clay, wrapped a sheltering arm around both women and hurried the goodbyes along so Nick could get going. “Keep an eye on the roads, son. Temps are dropping and with this snow there could be patches of black ice.”
“I’ll watch ’em.” Nick crossed into the dining room and gently squeezed his hands over the shoulders of the silver-haired grandfather whose name he shared. “I’ll be back for a rematch with you, card shark.”
“Everything okay?” George Madigan, a cop like Nick, who’d been on the force long enough to recently be promoted to deputy commissioner, pushed back his chair. Even though his uncle had been pushing papers at KCPD headquarters the past few years, the detective instincts were still there. “The department’s short-staffed tonight. You need backup?”
Nick urged his uncle back to his seat. “Just some task force business to take care of,” he answered, keeping the details vague for his younger siblings while dropping enough of a hint to let George know what he was up to. “I’ve got it covered.”
George’s steely gray eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, sir. Besides, somebody’s gotta keep an eye on this one.” He patted his grandfather’s shoulder and pointed a warning finger to his brothers and sisters sitting around the table. “You all keep him honest. He’s dealing off the bottom of the deck.”
Nicolas Fensom snorted at his grandson’s ribbing. “I am not. Fifty years of playing poker just makes me good.”
And then Nick realized the numbers around the table really didn’t add up. “Where’s Nell?”
“She got a text from—”
“Damn it, she’s seeing that boy—”
“What boy?”
“She’s in love, Grandpa.”
“She’s seventeen.”
“If she snuck out again—”