Colby Velocity (6 page)

Rocky sat down at the desk and fired up his laptop. “Is that
A-l-i-s-h-a
Ferguson?”

“Try that,” Kendra suggested. “If you don't get the right hit, go for
A-l-e-e-s-h-a.
” She sipped her coffee, her mind replaying the images from the photos. Castille in a car with the Ferguson woman. The two in what looked to be an alleyway. Always at night. Always alone. Always deep in conversation.

But never touching or kissing…

If Castille was having an affair wouldn't whoever snapped the candid shots have caught at least one image of that behavior?

“Aleesha with the two
e
's,” Rocky confirmed. “Twenty-two. No known next-of-kin. Investigators deemed her the victim of a hit-and-run that occurred sometime between midnight and 3:00 a.m. on June 2. No suspects as of the date of this article. Maryland native. That's about it. The woman in the article photo definitely looks like the one in the shots Roper showed off.”

Kendra fished for her cell phone and put a call into the agency. After giving a condensed briefing of the day's events, researcher Patsy Talley promised to do all she could to get Yoni Sayar's cell phone records for the past two months and to look into Aleesha Ferguson's background and death. Kendra thanked her colleague and ended the call.

“Anything else?” she asked Rocky who remained focused on the screen of his laptop. Another cup of coffee would provide the jump start her brain cells needed.

“Her name and photo popped up on an escort Web site based in Baltimore. Looks like there hasn't been an update in more than two years. She may or may not have still been involved with that business.”

After refilling her cup, Kendra moved up behind Rocky to study the screen. In the photo Ferguson was outfitted in leather and chains. If this was the other woman, did Castille's wife learn about her and flip out? Or was Grant's accusation nothing more than an attempt to draw attention away from Castille himself? At one time Kendra's relationship with Sharon Castille, the senator's wife, had been relatively close. “Maybe we should try talking to Mrs. Castille.”

Rocky glanced up at her. “Is there any chance she would willingly see you?”

Kendra wandered to the foot of the bed and collapsed. She wasn't sure how much longer she could put off getting some sleep. Even a second cup of coffee wasn't doing the trick. “I suppose it depends upon how the senator explained my abrupt departure from his staff. Can't hurt to try.”

“I have a plan.” Rocky pushed up from the desk. He covered the two steps between them and joined her on the foot of the bed. “You need sleep.”

Kendra motioned to the door. “I should call the front desk about my room.”

Rocky moved his head from side to side. “You sleep.” He patted the bed. “I'll do a little more research, then I'll crash out in the chair.”

She couldn't do that. It would be…inappropriate. Absolutely. Inappropriate. “I'm sure they'll give
me another room.” Kendra stared at her lap where her clasped hands tightened in uncertainty around the cup.

“Look. I'll call the front desk about your room. Don't worry about that.” He curled his forefinger beneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “But, for tonight, I want you where I can see you.”

His touch or maybe his voice made her tremble just a little. Could have been the exhaustion. “I'll be fine.” She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. His suggestion that she couldn't was…ridiculous. She had taken care of herself during dicey field investigations before.

He dropped his hand, gave her a patient smile. “I'm certain you would be fine either way, but I wouldn't be fine at all.”

Confusion lined her brow.

“I'd spend the rest of the night worried about the possibility that whoever did that” he pointed in the direction of her room “would come back. I could conduct this investigation alone.” He nodded for emphasis. “Don't think I can't. This whole partners gig is the Colby way of doing things.”

She opened her mouth to argue the idea, but he kept going. “The bottom line is that I need you on this one. I don't know the players or their worlds. Your knowledge and your contacts will make what has to be done a whole lot easier and more efficient.
Not to mention I know how much this case means to you. So let's not take any chances with safety. Yours or mine. You crash here and we can keep an eye on each other.”

Maybe it was the genuine concern in those blue eyes of his…or maybe it was just her need to feel protected at the moment.

As much as she'd like to claim immunity to vulnerability, that would be a lie. Determined, aggressive, she was both those things but she was also a woman and right now she felt a little vulnerable.

“I can't argue with your reasoning, partner.” She exhaled the remainder of her uncertainty. “Wake me up if you find anything.”

“Will do.”

Rocky returned to his laptop. Kendra didn't move for a time. Instead, she watched the man whose nickname gave the impression of hard, unyielding fortitude. In the past fourteen or so hours she had learned that wasn't the case at all.

Big, tough Leland “Rocky” Rockford was soft and caring on the inside.

A smile widened her weary lips. She liked that.

She pushed up and moved to the side of the bed, kicking her shoes off as she went. Drawing the covers back, she decided that sleeping in her jacket would be counterproductive. She shouldered out of
it and tossed it on the foot of the bed. Her holstered cell phone went on the bedside table.

Kendra stretched her kinked muscles, started to climb into the bed but abruptly realized that this suit was the only usable wardrobe element she had left. The jeans absolutely didn't count. Outside going shopping first thing in the morning, which was not on her agenda, she had little choice but to get under the covers and slip the skirt off as well.

With a camisole beneath the blouse, there was no reason she couldn't take that off, too. Otherwise she'd be a wrinkled mess in the morning. With a quick glance to ensure Rocky was absorbed in his work, she unbuttoned and peeled off the blouse.

Dropping back onto the pillows she pulled the covers up to her neck. It felt good to lie down. The many questions related to the case churned in her brain, but just closing her eyes was decelerating the puzzling whirlwind. Sleep dragged at her weary body, promising oblivion. She slowly let go.

Rocky would wake her if he found anything or if news came in from the agency research folks. Her lids fluttered open just enough to get one final peek at her partner…and protector.

He was no longer staring at the screen of his laptop. He was staring at her.

The image of those blue eyes drifted into darkness with her.

It was nice, she realized, not being alone.

Thursday, 6:15 a.m.

Rocky closed his laptop and turned in the chair to check on Kendra. She slept like a child—trusting and innocent. He scrubbed a hand over his face and realized he was smiling.

He liked watching her sleep.

Fortunately, he'd managed to catch a few winks himself. Around two this morning he'd moved to the more comfortable upholstered chair and stretched his legs out on the side of the bed opposite her. He'd fallen asleep watching her. Her face was the first thing he'd seen when he opened his eyes at five-thirty.

Another first for him.

Not only was she the first woman he'd been attracted to that wasn't attracted to him first, she was also the first sleeping lady he'd gotten so much pleasure simply watching.

Didn't make a lot of sense.

It just was.

Patsy T.—her name was Talley, but he liked calling her Patsy T.—had called with an update. She'd forwarded Sayar's cell phone records as well as Aleesha Ferguson's rap sheet to Rocky's e-mail.

Sayar had in fact received two calls from Mrs. Castille the day of Ferguson's death. Sayar had in the next hour made three additional calls to the senator's wife. The calls from Castille to Sayar were thirty seconds or less. Two of the three made by Sayar were similarly short, but one lasted a full three minutes. That didn't confirm Grant Roper's accusation, but it made for another lead to follow.

Aleesha Ferguson had numerous arrests for prostitution and vagrancy in Baltimore as well as the D.C. area. Her mother, Alice Ferguson, had died of an overdose five years ago, leaving Aleesha alone and to, apparently, follow in the footsteps of her longtime profession. Alice had grown up in Arlington and moved to Baltimore after her only child was born. There was no traceable connection between Aleesha and the senator other than the photos Roper had flashed.

No traceable link between Aleesha and Sayar or Castille's wife.

Nothing.

Patsy T.'s research partner, Levi Stark, was very close to decrypting Sayar's files.

They were close to a lot of information but close wouldn't solve this case.

The only way to change that was to get this day started. He prepared a fresh pot of coffee and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Hesitating at the door, he glanced at Kendra and opted to grab his change of clothes to prevent an awkward situation after his shower in the event she awoke.

By the time he'd rushed through a shower and pulled on clean clothes, the smell of coffee had filled the room and Kendra was up with a cup in her hand.

“Good morning.”

Her hair was a little mussed, the only evidence she'd just gotten out of bed. His gaze slid to the tousled linens and his gut tightened. He'd fought the urge to climb into that bed with her more than once last night. He felt relatively sure she wouldn't have appreciated that move.

“Morning.” He stuffed yesterday's wardrobe into his bag and fumbled around until he found his tooth brush and paste.

“Thanks for making coffee.” She sipped the hot brew. “It was great to wake up to hot caffeine.”

It was great to wake up in the room with you.
He pushed the forbidden thought out of his head.

“Patsy T. called.”

“Did she find anything useful?”

While Kendra finished her coffee, Rocky brought her up to speed on what he'd learned. She studied the phone records and the rap sheet via his laptop, coming to the same conclusion he had. They had a lot of starts but not necessarily any that would lead them to the desired end result.

“I'll take a quick shower.” Kendra sat her coffee cup on the desk. “Five minutes,” she promised. “Then we'll get moving.”

“I'll pack up our gear.”

When she'd closed herself in the tiny bathroom, he packed up his laptop and gathered the rest of the gear they would need. Communications devices and weapons. He surveyed the room, decided that was everything.

He poured himself another cup of coffee. The sound of the water running in the shower stalled the cup halfway to his mouth.

Images of her naked, the soap gliding over her skin…the water tracing that same smooth path, rinsing the soap away.

He licked his lips, imagined how hers would taste. Nice, full lips that made the cutest bow when she was lost in thought. He liked her fingers, too.
Long, slender. When she was frustrated she rubbed at her forehead with her fingertips.

Why had he noticed so many little things about her in such a short time? The bigger question was, why had he been paying that much attention? Good thing she couldn't read his mind or she would likely think he was losing it or some kind of perv.

The roar of the blow dryer in the bathroom prodded Rocky from the distracting thoughts. He pulled on socks and boots. Threaded his belt through the loops of his jeans and fastened it. Then dragged on a sports jacket—his usual concession to the suit thing. A quick thread of his fingers through his hair and he was good to go.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a burst of sweet-smelling steam, and Kendra stepped out. “You were right,” she said, looking and sounding well rested.

“Yeah?” His gaze immediately traced a path from her bare feet up those shapely legs to the hem of her skirt. He blinked, forced his attention to her face, which was every bit as distracting as the rest of her.

“Sleep was what I needed.” She pulled on the cream-colored jacket she'd worn the day before. “I feel better prepared to move forward.”

“Good.” Efforts to banish the way her blouse had tightened against her breasts while she'd shouldered
into the jacket proved futile. The more alone time he spent with her the less control he appeared to have.

“I'd like to go to my room.” She stepped into her shoes, simultaneously stuffing something into her pocket. “See if any of my stuff survived.” A search of her purse produced her keycard.

“Sure.” He followed her out the door, annoyed that he'd slipped into one-word mode like a teenager suffering from lust overdose.

As she tucked her keycard into the slot on her door, he noticed that a hint of lace peeked from her jacket pocket. He blinked, swallowed. Pink lace. His attention instantly settled on the way her skirt molded to her backside. The way she dressed he'd expected plain white cotton undies…not pink lace.

The door of her room abruptly opened and Wayne Burton filled the space. “I tried your cell phone.”

“What're you doing in my room?” she demanded.

Rocky had been about to voice the same question.

Burton backed up, allowing them entrance into Kendra's hotel room. “Management called in the breaking and entering. When I heard it was your room, I came right over.”

Nice. A homicide detective for a B&E. Rocky was duly unimpressed.

Crime scene techs and a couple of uniformed cops were rifling through Kendra's stuff.

“I'll need a list of what's missing,” Burton said to Kendra.

While Kendra briefed her
friend
on the missing items, Rocky watched his reaction. An occasional glance in Rocky's direction confirmed that Burton was doing the same thing.

Something Burton said had Kendra's temper rising. Rocky had missed whatever was said because his attention had abruptly diverted to where the pink lace had inched its way farther out of her pocket.

Rocky moved in closer to her and frowned at Burton. “Any thoughts on how someone discovered where Kendra is staying?” he demanded of Burton as he covertly snatched the scrap of pink lace from her jacket pocket and shoved it deep into his own.

She glared at Rocky, still furious at the situation.

“Is that an accusation, Mr. Rockford?”

Rocky looked the cop straight in the eye and answered honestly, “Yes.”

The stare-off lasted about five seconds before Burton's expression relaxed and he threw out a challenge of his own. “Do you have reason to believe this incident had something to do with Kendra personally versus a random act of burglary?”

“You mean a random act like Yoni Sayar's murder?” Rocky countered.

“Just do what you have to do,” Kendra snapped. Then she took a breath. “May I have whatever's left of my personal things?”

Burton backed off. “Sure.”

He walked over to where her bag lay on the floor. Rocky hadn't noticed until then that the clothing items that had been spewed over the floor were now tucked back into the bag. Which meant Burton had gone through her things. Touched her stuff.

Renewed fury boiled up inside Rocky.

“Let's go.” Kendra turned to him, bag in hand.

Rocky sent a final sour look in Burton's direction before executing an about-face and stalking back to the room across the hall. Inserting the keycard twice was necessary since he was too ticked off to do it right the first time.

When the door had closed behind them, Kendra flung her bag on the bed. “He's watching us.” She set her hands on her hips and shook her head. “I knew it was likely but it really makes me angry to have it confirmed. Wayne is treating me like a suspect!”

Unable to stifle the assessment, Rocky opened his mouth and promptly inserted his foot. “I'm not so sure Burton keeping an eye on you has much to do with Sayar's murder case.”

Kendra stopped picking through her damaged clothes and glared at him. “What does that mean?”

The taste of boot still on his tongue, Rocky shrugged. “The former personal connection between the two of you is Burton's top priority where you're concerned. At least, that's the way it looks to me.”

“He told you this?” she demanded.

Rocky heaved a sighed. “No. But I'm not blind. You are,” he said pointedly, “if you don't recognize his underlying motive. He's still got a thing for you.”

Irritation flashing in her eyes, she swung her attention back to her stuff. “Whatever.”

Yeah, whatever.

She fisted a wad of white lace and deserted her search. “I'll be ready in a minute.”

He watched her storm toward the bathroom door before saying, “You might want this.” She stopped and turned back to him, her free hand resting on the door. He pulled the lacy pink panties from his jacket pocket and walked over to hand the racy lingerie to her.

Her jaw went slack as she accepted the scrap of fabric. She patted her pocket, her cheeks turning as pink as the sexy panties.

Before she could demand how he'd ended up with her panties, he explained, “While you were
railing at Burton, they popped out of your pocket. I grabbed them and tucked them into mine.” He shrugged when she continued to stare at him in utter outrage and humiliation. “I didn't want you to be embarrassed in front of all those guys.” Every tech and cop in the room was male.

She didn't say a word. She pushed into the bathroom and then slammed the door between them.

That was what he got for trying to be a gentleman.

Rocky wandered to the window and stared out at the promise of a hot, sultry day. His behavior was unacceptable. He needed to stop looking at her as a woman and start focusing more intently on the case. Difficult to do, though.

The bathroom door opened and he turned to face whatever she had to say next. He'd crossed the line to a degree and he owed her an apology.

“Look,” he said before she could launch what would no doubt be a lecture about professionalism, “I apologize for making you uncomfortable. I thought I—”

“Why would you apologize?” she asked, surprising him. “You saved me from being the object of cop jokes for days. I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Wow. He hadn't expected that. “Good.” Back to the one-word reactions.

“Let's get going.” She shouldered her purse. “We
need to eat.” She pressed a palm to her flat middle. “I'm starving. Then we're going to see what we can find out about Mrs. Castille. Maybe talk to her.”

Rocky picked up the bag with his laptop and their other gear. “What about the press conference?”

“We already know what they're going to say. Why waste our time?”

“Agreed.”

Rocky mentally kicked himself as he followed her along the corridor. Pink lace panties shouldn't lessen his IQ. He hesitated at the bank of elevators and pushed the call button. The pink lace hadn't lowered his intelligence level, the idea that she'd worn them did that all by itself.

The warning chime that a car had arrived and the opening of the doors dragged him from the troubling thoughts. When Kendra didn't move through the open doors he followed her gaze back in the direction of her room just in time to get a glimpse of Burton ducking quickly back inside.

“He's watching us,” Kendra murmured.

“He's watching you,” Rocky countered.

Her gaze bumped into his. “It's way more complicated than that.”

Rocky couldn't ignore the worry in her eyes. “You're right. Every aspect of this investigation is complicated. Including that cop.”

She held his gaze, preventing him from drawing a breath.

With every fiber of his being he wanted to kiss her. To touch those lips with his own for just a moment…one or two seconds.

The elevator doors closed behind her. He told himself to reach around her and push the call button again, but that wasn't happening.

She blinked, turned her back and pushed the call button herself.

Rocky started mentally kicking himself again.

The doors opened and they stepped into the empty car. It was early. Not much movement from the other guests yet. Rocky leaned against the back of the car and let the tension flow out of him. Kendra selected the lobby floor and took a position against that same wall, no more than fifteen or eighteen inches between them.

Soft music whispered in the air. Elevator music. He worked to focus on the tune and not the scent of soap on her skin.

“Do me a favor, Rocky.”

He braced for her censure, turned his face to hers as the elevator bumped to a stop on the lobby floor. “Name it, partner.” She was his partner in this investigation. Professional partner.