Against the Rules (15 page)

The local PD was using an older system. One he’d learned the intricacies of long ago. It took longer to filter through the files than it did to get into their ‘secure’ site.

Ahh, there he is. The monkey. Aka Tyler Peterson.

Chapter Nine

Teague was intrigued. How many men had lived in all seven states during those same years? Because of the length of time the Weasel kept his victims, it seemed unlikely that he simply traveled through those areas. He began a search of DMV records. Due to the number of years a driver’s license remained valid, it would be too time consuming to sift through the dates. For this initial query, he just tried to match names. The list was surprisingly large. Scanning the names, he found one familiar and recurring—Patrick Donley.

Son of a bitch!

* * * *

“Sir, Officer Peterson hasn’t reported for duty,” Charlotte from dispatch informed Bell.

“Send a patrol car to his apartment. Maybe he’s still sleeping one off.” Possible, but unlikely. Bell’s gut tightened. It didn’t feel right. Peterson hadn’t been on the job long. He was too gung-ho to blow off his shift. “Let me know what they find.”

“We had a car in the area so I asked them to do a run-by. His car is in the parking lot and he’s not answering the door.”

“I assume you’ve already tried calling him.”

“Yes, sir,” Charlotte answered promptly.

That’s why he’d hired her. Not only was she a knockout, but she had a brain too. “Who went over there?”

“Reynolds.”

Good choice. “Get him on his cell.” They didn’t need this going over the radio.

“Line two.”

He chuckled. She was making a habit out of anticipating his moves. “Reynolds, it’s Bell. Any signs of trouble?”

“No, boss. I think he tied one on last night and he’s sleeping it off.”

“Your call…”

“It’s a pissy-ass lock. I can have it open in two shakes.”

Bell could hear a faint metal on metal sound, then a sharp intake of air. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re gonna wanna get down here, boss.”

In between gagging sounds, he heard Reynolds speaking into his radio. He was calling in a ten fifty-four and a code thirty. Possible dead body and officer needs help.

“On my way.” He turned to Charlotte. She’d beat him to it again. In her outstretched hand, she had a sticky with Reynold’s cell phone number and Peterson’s address.

Before he reached his car, he had Reynolds back on the line. “What’s happened?”

“He’s dead, boss.” Bell could hear him breathing heavily. “He took a hell of a beating, sir. You can’t even recognize him. He’s been laid out on his table with a banana shoved in his mouth. What the hell does that mean?”

The sirens were getting louder into the phone. “Tell ’em to wait for me. I’m just around the corner.”

* * * *

Teague had stayed awake long into the night reading the reports as various technicians began submitting their immediate findings. Nothing was jumping out at him. He needed to get his hands on those vidcams and the accompanying computer, which was about as likely as being invited to ride along on the next NASA spacewalk. Donley didn’t want him anywhere near this case or his daughter. Even if he convinced the bastard that he could garner evidence his techs couldn’t, which considering his current predicament shouldn’t be too hard, he’d still have to explain how he knew as much as he did and why he wanted to butt his nose into this mess. Breaking into the NBIA evidence room sounded more appealing.

He needed sleep. His mara-sex-thon with Channy had been phenomenal, but not restful. While she had caught catnaps here and there, he’d been too paranoid to shut his eyes. Foolish, but the way of things.

He couldn’t look at his bed without remembering her there. Or the kitchen table for that matter. If he was smart, which he’d already proven otherwise, he wouldn’t have been fucking an NBIA chief’s daughter. That took a special kind of stupidity. He should rip the sheets off his bed and wash them immediately, instead of savoring her scent and allowing it to drive him crazy. He was even ashamed of thinking of their weekend together as fucking or just sex. She wasn’t like that, wasn’t meant for that. Damn it.

* * * *

What a night or four. Visions of dead women haunted her sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about Reese and their weekend together. If she concentrated, she could still feel Reese’s hands touching her. There was no doubt about it, though—as messed up as her brain was, her heart had been the biggest casualty.

She wanted to help Reese. Take away that sad glint in his eyes. She now understood the suspicious, distant look he wore when he thought she wasn’t looking. It wasn’t fair that he was so alone, afraid to get close to anyone. He was a good guy and she wanted him, or at least a chance with him. He needed to get over his pig-headedness and give them a chance.

Every time she woke up in a cold sweat with horrific images of bloody bodies being tortured before her eyes, she would push them away with thoughts of Reese. In those wee hours of Monday morning, she had hastily cobbled together a scheme to eke out a few precious moments of freedom and time to confront Reese. As soon as she got to school, she intended to break the copier. Instinct told her that Reese wouldn’t be the tech to answer the call—he wanted to keep his distance—but it was worth a try. If that didn’t work, she had a backup plan.

She had played Sid perfectly. Calling him at six a.m. had been cruel, but effective. “Sid, where are you? You’re gonna make me late!” Her voice was overly perky yet still annoyed.

“Chantel? It’s…six o’clock! Your school doesn’t start until eight forty. I checked.”

Yeah, being the boss’s daughter had probably saved her a tongue lashing. “Oh, I see. You’re one of those people.” Loathing oozed from every syllable. “Teaching is a cake walk. You only work nine to three—summers and holidays off. How hard could it be? Well, let me tell you something, buster. I bet I put in more hours than you do. I start my day at—” She had her speech memorized, but he interrupted.

“Chantel?”

“Seven a.m. at the latest. I have meetings and—”

“Chantel?”

Grinning at the frustration in his voice, she finally allowed him to speak. It was either that or laugh and that would have blown the whole effect.

“Chantel, I get it. You want to get to work and I’m delaying you. I’ll be there asap.”

He sounded tired and she felt bad, but making it inconvenient as hell was necessary.

Her car was sitting in the circular drive. She got in the driver’s seat and waited. When Sid pulled up, he parked his department car in front of hers, blocking her exit.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in exasperation.

“Waiting and waiting and waiting for you to finally show up. I’m late, Sid.” She made sure she sounded frustrated and maybe a touch angry.

“Get in my car and we’ll get moving.”

She knew he was minding his manners because of who her father was and she hoped her luck would continue. “I waited for you to escort me. Don’t insult me by refusing to let me drive my own car, Sid.” She blinked, bringing tears to her eyes. “I need to feel like I still have some control over my life. I gave up my house. I moved in with my father. Do you have any idea how hard that was? I’m not going to do anything stupid. Even though I’m late, I waited for you. Come on, give me this. You’ll be right behind me the whole time.”

“Chantel, I could lose my job,” he argued.

“Sid, you told my father you would escort me, not drive me. He won’t fire you for doing exactly what you said you would do.” She looked at her watch. “Seriously, I have a meeting and I’m late already. I have to go. Please, let me drive my own car. I promise to go straight to school and straight back here.”

Eventually, Sid caved in. He practically drove on her bumper the entire way and he walked her to her classroom. Once her dad found out that she’d driven, she knew Sid was in for an ass chewing. As long as nothing bad happened today, she’d have a strong argument for doing the same thing tomorrow.

Phase two hadn’t gone as easily. Both Sid and her father had shown up in her classroom later that afternoon demanding to know why she was still there. By Wednesday, all she received was a disgruntled phone call asking when she planned to leave. They were getting used to her working late and their heavy workload demanded their time.

Thursday, she hadn’t heard a peep. Hopefully, tonight would go as smoothly. All she needed were a few hours alone with Reese, or so she prayed as she snuck out to her car and drove to his house.

Her hands started to shake as she sat outside. His car was in the drive. This was it. What if she was wrong? What if he really didn’t want a relationship with her? What if her imagination had twisted things, warped them to match her fantasy? Maybe he enjoyed his life. Enjoyed boffing a new woman every week. What if he was with one now?

Wimpy Chantel wanted to run away. Crazy Chantel wanted to break down the door and let the flavor of the week have a piece of her mind. Semi-Sane Chantel won out. Very calmly, she knocked politely on the door, though her heart was pounding loud enough that knocking probably wasn’t necessary. Hell, everyone for a city block could probably hear it.

She had run a hand over the hood of his car. It was still warm. He had to be here. Why wasn’t he answering the door? Did he have someone with him? In for a penny, in for dessert, she might as well peek through the windows.

Before she did more than turn, Reese had snaked an arm around her waist, brought her into the house and shut the door.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His sexy voice was sharp and accusative.

He seemed taller than she remembered. More masculine, more loud, more everything. Where was the soft, mushy man of her dreams who’d rushed into her arms, feathering kisses along her face, as he told her how happy he was to see her? “I’m fine, Reese, thank you for asking. How are you?” She answered his outburst as calmly as she could. She’d been told that sarcasm was her true medium.

This wasn’t going right. He was supposed to be thrilled that she’d escaped. Pleased that she’d taken the initiative. Not barking at her. Maybe he did have a woman stashed away.

“Channy, doesn’t your father have a lick of sense? He should’ve kept you under lock and key, not allowed you to run around getting into even more trouble.”

“Thank you, I’d love to sit down. I’ve been on my feet all day.” On her way to the couch she stealthily glanced into his bedroom. No woman on the bed anyway. “I’m so glad you want to discuss my dad. I must admit, I’m curious as to how you two met.”

“Woman, have you not heard a word I’ve said?”

“I’m listening. Come sit beside me.” She patted the cushion next to her. “Let’s talk.”

Teague had known he was getting company long before the knock had sounded. His security system had alerted him the instant the perimeter had been breached. He still couldn’t believe that Channy was back in his home. He didn’t like the way his heart had skipped a beat at the sight of her. He shouldn’t want to see her again and yet he did.

Four nights had gone by and all he’d thought about was Channy. His dreams were pure erotic fantasies, but his nightmares were hell. Sometimes Mr. G. caught them together. Other times the Weasel found Channy alone and vulnerable. Neither could be allowed to happen.

“Why are you here alone? Why aren’t you locked away in some safe house?” He realized he was digging his fingers into her arms and he forced his grip to loosen. This new self-assured Channy, while she was sexy as fuck, had to go.

What the hell was her father thinking? Teague wanted to find him and beat some sense into him.

“Why did you come back to my house after you dropped me off?” she demanded, not seeming to care that he was furious.

“What do you mean?” He cocked his head. “Sshh,” he ordered. A faint blinging sound was coming from down the hall. “Is anyone with you?”

“No. Is anyone with you?”

Her question surprised him. What an odd thing to ask. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her into the back bedroom. At a touch of his hand, the flat-screen TV turned into a computer monitor showing the front of the house. “Shit.”

Channy chuckled. “That’s cool,” she said, looking at the TV. “Did you forget you ordered pizza?”

“I didn’t order pizza,” Teague growled and pushed her toward the closet. He knelt down and removed a section of the flooring, revealing a security pad. Teague input the code and the door to his safe popped open, offering an array of weapons. He took them all. After he punched another code into the pad, a rope ladder dropped down. “Up you go.”

“Uhm, I don’t climb. I’m afraid of heights.”

“Not a good time, darlin’.” He came up behind her and smacked her perfect butt. “Up.”

The doorbell rang and a male voice shouted, “Pizza!”

“I can’t do it.” Panic filled her eyes. “Up isn’t good for me. I get the shakes, vertigo.” Her voice quivered slightly. “You name it.”

She was serious.
Son of a bitch.
He couldn’t afford to have her freeze up while they were running along the roof’s edge. It was too risky.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.
Too much time is going by. Seconds count.
“Coming,” he shouted back, hoping to gain them some time.

He slipped on night goggles and peered out. They’d expect him to go out the back. With his preferred method of escape useless to him, he chose the only one left. Out the side. Silently, he slid the bedroom window open and scanned the surrounding area.

“Crawl out the window and lie flat on your belly. Don’t move and don’t talk.”

She nodded and followed his instructions.

Behind them, he heard wood splintering and loud banging. “Alive, G. wants ’em alive!” Great, if the ring leader had to shout reminders to his crew, it meant that he had a bunch of hotheaded, trigger-happy yahoos after him.

Chantel about jumped out of her skin when Reese’s body partially covered hers.