Dangerous Kisses (2 page)

"That’s up to him."

"Why is Radley lead detective on this?" Donna asked. "He’s Murder Squad."

Murder Squad? Since Sydney’s move from Billings, she’d not had reason to work with the Murder Squad. She’d covered two murders during that time — one a domestic, the other a drug deal gone bad. But their high solvability had made them the jurisdiction of the homicide detectives. If the elite Murder Squad was involved, the department had no clue about the killer’s identity. Sydney shuddered.

The PIO officer hesitated for a moment, enough time for Sydney to discern her reluctance to answer Donna’s question.

"Have you identified the victim?" Sydney asked.

"We don’t have a positive I.D. yet."

Sydney caught and held the woman’s blue-eyed gaze for a moment.

"But you have a pretty good idea, don’t you?" Sydney hesitated, then followed her instinct. "Do they believe it’s Maggie Field?" Her heart ached at the thought of Maggie’s distraught parents.

Doors closing and engines starting behind her drew Sydney’s attention. Radley drove by the press gathering with his face stern. Another detective followed.

"Like I said, we haven’t yet identified the victim. We’ll release that information when we have it and after the notification of next of kin."

Sydney itched to follow Radley, to try to gather more useful information from him, but she stayed until the end of the Q-and-A session.

As soon as it concluded, Sydney raced to her car. If this case had anything to do with Maggie Field, she intended to find out. Sydney slammed the car into gear and sped past the gaping reporters setting up to do live reports.

The needle on the speedometer climbed steadily, much like her determination. If the Fields had indeed lost their only daughter, they deserved to know why and who was responsible. Super Cop didn’t know it yet, but he’d met his match.

****

As Jake climbed out of the car at the back entrance to the Criminal Justice Center, a blue Honda squealed through the intersection at the end of the block. He reached for his gun but dropped his hand when he recognized the driver who screeched to a halt in the space directly behind his.

"Looks like your new girlfriend missed you," Kevin said as he walked by.

"You need a life."

He didn’t have time for theatrics or tantrums. He had a fisherman to interview. He rounded the front of the department’s car and climbed halfway up the concrete steps with Kevin before Sydney followed them.

"Detective Radley!"

Kevin elbowed Jake in the ribs as he passed him. He chuckled as he swiped his I.D. card and stepped inside the building, leaving Jake on the steps.

Jake stared down at Sydney. She must work at one of the papers since she didn’t have video or audio equipment. Despite her profession, he couldn’t deny she was easy to look at. Tall, long legs, shiny blond ponytail pulled high on her head, probably a nice figure beneath her blue windbreaker.

"You’re missing the press conference," he said as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

Sydney crossed her arms and huffed. "It’s over. And I got my one sentence of information. I was hoping you might give me another sentence or two."

Her sarcastic tone almost made him smile, but he resisted the urge. "You found out more from Lydia than you will from me."

She pressed on as if he hadn’t spoken. "Is the fisherman here? Are you going in to interview him?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I’m going in to check my lottery numbers."

She walked around to the front of her car and scooted up onto the hood. "Fine. He’s got to leave sometime."

"And you don’t know who he is or which door he’s going to come out of."

Even from several feet away, he saw her shoulders stiffen and her jaws tighten.

"Does this have something to do with Maggie Field? Is that who you found out there?"

Jake didn’t even twitch. He’d long ago schooled his facial features not to reveal his thoughts and feelings, one of the traits that made him a good cop. At least he was good most of the time.

"Miss..."

"Blackburn. Sydney Blackburn with the
Nashville Courier
."

"Well, Sydney Blackburn with the
Nashville Courier
, you’ll eventually find out the identity of the fisherman and probably a good many other facts about the case, but you won’t be finding them out from me."

Never again would he trust a reporter. Doing so could be deadly.

Before she responded, he slid his own I.D. into the reader next to the door and stepped inside the sanctuary of the plain, fluorescent-lit hallway. He inhaled deeply and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He’d told her he was a good cop, but this morning he’d doubted that assertion.

Stephanie Mortimer’s death had been not only a blow to her grieving family but also to his confidence. His inability to track down her killer in the months since her death ate at him.

Captain Haywood, who’d served patrol duty with Jake’s father, swore Jake was a chip off the old nose-to-the-grindstone, bloodhound, workaholic block. Not that it’d done Stephanie Mortimer or Maggie Field any good.

Jake headed for the Murder Squad office, a compact room filled with small cubicles against the walls and a central folding table and chairs flanked by a narrow path leading down both sides. He needed a cup of coffee and figured the fisherman down the hall in the interview room did, too.

When he stepped into the squad room, loud cheers erupted from the cubicles. The other detectives whistled, clapped their hands and hooted as if they were at a Titans football game.

"Well, if it isn’t Detective Radley, the cop so handsome even the enemy chases him." The comment caused a riot of snickers and knee slaps.

"Kevin should keep his big mouth shut." Jake squeezed past his colleagues to reach the coffee pot.

"Hey, Radley, why don’t you ask Sydney out. Maybe she’ll put your purty picture in the paper. Not to mention she’s hot."

"Don’t you guys have anything better to do, like solve a murder or something?"

"It was time for the mid-day stress reliever."

"I bet Radley can think of a better way to relieve his stress." This generated a new round of howls.

Jake rolled his eyes, then shoved his way back through with two cups of coffee. "You guys are idiots." He retreated to the hall.

Alone in the hallway, he paused to take a deep breath. The squad’s taunts reverberated in his head. If Sydney Blackburn were anyone but a reporter, those comments might not annoy him so much. But he’d trusted a reporter once and been repaid with betrayal. He never made the same mistake twice.

Still, something about Sydney compelled him to wonder about her. After making sure no one stood nearby, he returned to the exterior door. And there she sat, still perched on the hood of her car and clearly still fuming. He smiled at her crossed arms and determined expression. Persistent, he’d give her that.

And beautiful. The bright, mid-day sun glinted off her golden hair, and even her tensed features couldn’t hide the smooth skin and tantalizing lips.

Jake shook his head again then retreated from the door before one of the guys saw him acting like the idiot he’d accused them of being.

When he stepped into the interview room, Randy Helmswood, the freaked fisherman, jumped.

Jake turned on the video camera, then slid into the chair closest to the door. "Mr. Helmswood, tell me exactly what you did this morning, everything leading up to when you found the body in the woods."

After the interview, Jake spent the rest of his shift checking with Harry Prewitt about the time of the autopsy, running a background check on Helmswood, and filling out the VICAP forms for an FBI profile of their killer. As he detailed the two crime scenes and the victimology, anger festered in him that they were no closer to catching this guy than they’d been the day Stephanie Mortimer had been found in a rocky glade off Murfreesboro Road.

He looked back over Helmswood’s statement. Poor guy probably wished he’d gone to work instead of taking a vacation day to go fishing and then heading into the woods to rid himself of his morning coffee.

Yes, his walk in the woods had led them to Maggie’s body, but he hadn’t been able to provide much else of any use. He’d seen no one else but a couple other fishermen in boats closer to the dam.

With the forms completed, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He paused to study the dry erase board listing the homicides for the year. Two names stood out in red — the two unsolved murders.

Overall, the department’s hard work had yielded a successful year, but those two names stared back at Jake as if accusing him. Two unsolved murders were two too many. Jake’s fists clenched with the urge to punch something. Two young lives snuffed out. Two families consumed by grief. He’d be damned if they’d become two more failures he had to bear.

Sydney massaged the aching muscles in the side of her neck, the result of hours with the phone trapped between her ear and shoulder while she typed. Though she’d finished her story, no sense of relief accompanied its completion. Nothing she wrote would bring Maggie Field back. She sank against the back of her chair and closed her eyes.

"You look pooped."

Sydney opened her eyes to find Becky Griffith, a friend from college and now a co-worker, perched on the edge of her desk grinning at her.

"There’s a good reason for that, Becky. I am pooped."

"You been working on the DOA story all day?"

"Yeah. But let’s just say it isn’t going to win any awards for groundbreaking journalism."

"Some days are like that. Do the cops not know anything or are they just being tight-lipped?"

"Don’t know for sure, but I’d bet a paycheck on the latter."

"Now there’s a big wager," Becky said. "Look at it this way. At least you didn’t have to listen to the blowhard legislature debate tax reform all day."

"True, but you’d never trade places with me."

"You got that right. You can keep the dead body beat. I’ll hang out with the old codgers who still have a few breaths left."

Becky slid off the desk and walked back toward her own. Still tense and in no hurry to go home, Sydney flicked on the tiny television on the corner of her desk. Donna Fratella’s face greeted her from outside the justice center.

"We’ve just learned that family members have positively identified the young woman found early this morning as Maggie Field, who had been missing since September 30th. The medical examiner has not yet performed an autopsy, so no cause of death has been released."

Sydney gritted her teeth.

"How about the fisherman who discovered the body this morning?" the in-studio anchor asked Donna.

"He’s been identified as Randy Helmswood of Mt. Juliet. Police interviewed him earlier today, but they’ve not released any details from that interview."

Sydney shut off the TV then dialed the number for the criminal investigation division at police headquarters.

"C.I.D.," a male voice answered.

"Detective Radley, please."

"Just a moment."

Sydney tapped her pen against the desk repeatedly. The pulse in her neck throbbed.

"Detective Radley isn’t in."

Despite the hour, Sydney guessed Radley was still on duty somewhere. He seemed like the intense kind of cop who was never truly off duty. But the drone of the presses from the back of the building as she hung up the phone told her she was too late anyway. The one problem with print versus television — the inability to deliver late-breaking news. She could put updates on the paper’s website, but it just wasn’t the same as having a thorough piece in the papers that still managed to land in Nashville’s driveways each morning. She was enough of a journalist to hate being scooped, but what really bothered her was the feeling of helplessness pressing down on her.

She kneaded her temples where a headache blossomed. As if to add to the pounding in her head, her police scanner squawked. Someone asked about a Signal 8 — "meet" to those not in law enforcement — at Gallatin Road and Tulane Drive. When Jake Radley’s voice responded that he’d be there in ten minutes, Sydney’s eyes popped open.

"Hey, Becky, feel like Chinese for dinner?"

"Will you get me home at a decent hour?"

"Depends on if anything interesting happens."

"You buying?"

"Yes, my cheap friend, I’m buying."

"I’m not cheap. I’m frugal," Becky said as they headed for the door. "You listen to how much the legislature wants to tax us and you’ll be frugal, too."

Sydney sped through the maze of interstates, questions bubbling up in her mind like boiling water.

"Is the Chinese place going out of business in the next ten minutes?" Becky asked as she nodded toward Sydney’s speedometer.

"Oops. Sorry."

"I’m guessing there’s more at the Taste of China than egg rolls and fortune cookies."

"You know me so well. I was just scooped by Donna Fratella, and the cop responsible happens to be in the mood for Chinese."

"I swear, I think Donna’s sleeping with someone down at the justice center."

Sydney nearly choked.

"So, which of Metro’s finest are we stalking tonight?" Becky asked.

"Jake Radley from Murder Squad."

"Mmm, mmm. If that’s Donna’s source, I might have to hate her."

"Geez. Am I the only one who didn’t already know this guy?"

"You’re always too busy listening to your scanner or reading back articles about bad guys to come up for air, let alone notice cops with fine behinds."

"It’s my job. I need to know what has happened here in recent months if I’m to do it well."

"Nerd."

"Takes one to know one."

"Touche."

Becky’s comments about cops and their fine behinds echoed in Sydney’s head. Thinking about Radley and derrieres in the same sentence sent warmth sluicing through her body. She shifted her damp palms on the steering wheel.

"Well, if you need anyone to sleep with the scrumptious Detective Radley, I’m willing to make the sacrifice."

"Becky! I’m sure Chris will be glad to know he’s dating such a giving person."

"I’ve got a boyfriend. I’m not dead."

Sydney shook her head as she turned into the Taste of China parking lot. When she saw Radley walking toward the restaurant, she slowed and detoured to the back row of cars.

Well, she’d definitely noticed one fine behind today. With his jacket discarded, Radley looked even taller and firmer than her first impression had indicated.

Becky reached for the door as soon as Sydney cut the engine.

"Wait a few minutes," Sydney said.

"Oh, like he’s not going to know why you’re here."

"What? I like Chinese."

"Do you know how many Chinese places there are in Nashville?"

"Okay, you have a point."

They entered the restaurant just as Jake and the other detective who’d been at the scene that morning were picking up their first buffet plates. Chinese music played in the background. Despite the cheesy decor and the overuse of the color red, the restaurant was full — the sign of a cheap and tasty buffet, a mecca for cops.

"Ah, two of Metro’s finest," Becky said as she wandered past the buffet. "Fancy meeting you here."

Sydney fought the urge to throttle her friend. But when her eyes met Radley’s, she forgot all about Becky. Her breath caught midway up her chest. Even with caution and suspicion darkening his eyes, he mesmerized her. But like before, his words ruined the image even while the deepness of his voice made her body grow warmer.

"Well, Miss Blackburn. Nothing better to do this evening than follow me around?"

Sydney’s jaws tightened along with her fists. In all her thirty-two years, she’d never met anyone who could whiplash her emotions as quickly as the smug detective covering his plate with kung pao chicken and spare ribs. She took a deep breath, then concentrated on relaxing as she exhaled.

"Don’t flatter yourself, detective. I happen to like Chinese food."

"Then you didn’t see the news?"

She met his gaze and detected a twinkle of amusement there. He enjoyed riling her. Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She was nothing if not a cool, consummate professional.

Sydney picked up a plate and followed Radley down the side of the buffet.

"You know I did."

"So, you’re hoping to get a little more info along with your dinner."

She forced herself to smile, though she had no idea how genuine it appeared. "I’m always on the lookout for good information."

Radley placed several crab legs onto his plate. "I don’t know much more than you do."

"Forgive me if I don’t believe you. A few hours ago, you said you weren’t going to tell me anything, and then I see Donna Fratella scooping me on the 6 o’clock news."

"That’s all you reporters care about, isn’t it, who gets the most information fastest?"

A layer of disgust laced Radley’s question. No one could claim reporters and cops were bosom buddies, but the narrowing of Radley’s eyes that accompanied his question made Sydney wonder at the root of his dislike.

"Getting out the information is important," she said.

"Why? Why does the public have to know all the details of how this poor girl died?"

Sydney caught his gaze and held it. "So it doesn’t happen again."

Radley’s jaw flinched, and his eyes narrowed before he turned away. What did that involuntary reaction mean? Was Radley hiding something the public had a right to know? Or had she just ticked him off by basically saying he couldn’t do his job without her help?

"Radley." He stopped but took a couple of seconds before turning to face her. Time to mask his features, perhaps? "What are you not telling me?"

"You have all the information you need." His words shot out as if riding a bullet.

"That’s a matter of opinion."

He turned and strode to the table in the back corner where the other detective and two more men — probably yet more detectives — already sat eating and watching them as if they were two actors on a stage. She nearly followed but changed her mind when Radley sat and glared back at her with a coldness that sent a shiver down her spine.

When she turned toward her own table, the rapt expression on Becky’s face matched that of Radley’s fellow detectives.

"You find out anything?" Becky asked as Sydney slid into the booth.

"No." She didn’t elaborate. "So, who are Detective Personality’s buddies?"

"The one next to him is Kevin O’Malley, who is also mighty fine if you ask me. The other two I don’t know, but they’re probably Murder Squad too."

Sydney glanced back at the foursome. She’d have to do some research on the Murder Squad. Her imagination whirred with so many questions that she wasn’t much of a dinner companion.

Jake Radley might think he was unreadable, but Sydney possessed an uncanny ability to spot emotional responses thought to be concealed. That’s how she’d stumbled upon more than one story while covering the crime beat for the
Billings Gazette
. The average person wasn’t any good at hiding lies. And while Detective Jake Radley might not be lying, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming either.

She picked at her food, but her appetite disappeared for the most part. Her thoughts ran back over that morning’s crime scene. Was there something about Maggie’s death that clanged alarm bells in Radley’s head? If it was indeed murder, did they have a suspect? Was it the fisherman? Or was something even bigger going on?

Her thoughts veered toward the Field family and the anguish she knew they were feeling. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and pushed her food away. She’d been through the same thing after her mother’s murder, the despair and pain of knowing a loved one was gone forever and the person responsible was still free.

"You okay?" Becky asked.

Her friend’s voice startled Sydney out of her thoughts. "Yeah, why?"

"You look tense is all, and like your mind’s a million miles away."

Not a million miles. Just twenty-one years. She pushed those memories back into the corner of her mind they inhabited.

"Trying to figure out why Radley’s such a horse’s butt is all."

"It’s a course we take at the academy," that deep voice said from beside her.

She looked up to see Radley’s dark eyes staring down at her. Her face flushed before she could prevent it.

"Being a Horse’s Ass 101. I got an A+."

"Damn, you’re funny," she said, somehow speaking past the foot in her mouth. "You should take that act on the road." He didn’t react, just stared at her until she thought she might shrivel under the intensity. "Is there some other smart comment you wanted to share, detective?"

A few seconds more ticked by, ones in which Sydney fought the urge to twitch in her seat. Finally he said, "No, I’m fresh out of smart-ass comments. I’ll get back to you when I have a new batch."

He turned away and walked casually toward the door where Detective O’Malley waited. Sydney’s whole body flushed this time as she watched him, and she had to admit it wasn’t totally because he angered her. The firmness of his backside and the breadth of his shoulders beneath the plain, white dress shirt contributed at least partly to her warmth. Why was her body betraying her? He was the last man on Earth she should be fantasizing about.

"Well, it might not be Donna Fratella sleeping with Detective Radley after all," Becky said.

Sydney turned her attention to her friend, glad for distraction. "What?"

"You, girl. I think Radley likes you."

"Oh, for Pete’s sake. When did you suddenly go blind? The man obviously has something against me. And I don’t think it’s just because his job is at odds with mine."

"Nope. I think he likes you and doesn’t want to admit it."

"You’re a good reporter, Becky, but you’re wrong on this." The mere consideration that Becky might be right disturbed Sydney more than she’d ever admit aloud. And she resented the fact that physical attraction was taking her mind off her job, even temporarily.

"Don’t be so sure. There were about twenty words in what he just said to you. That’s about eighteen more than he ever offers any other reporter."

Sydney shook her head as she tossed a tip on the table.

"Come on, let’s go."

"We following Radley some more?"

Sydney ignored the note of teasing in Becky’s question. "No. That’s a dead end for the time being. I’m banking on having a little better luck somewhere else."

A stop at Randy Helmswood’s house revealed nothing more than he had a tired looking wife who wasn’t in the marriage of her dreams. Sydney wondered if things were bad enough at the Helmswood home that Randy would attack a much younger, prettier woman.

She hurried through progressively darker streets until she found Charley’s Keg on the outskirts of town. Randy was supposedly inside trying to drown the memory of finding a dead body. The concrete block building would have faded into the dark landscape had it not been for the large neon orange keg on top of the roof. The "C" in Charley’s neon name had burned out, leaving only "harley’s" and making his establishment appear to be a biker bar. Sydney reached into her pocket to make sure her pepper spray was easily accessible.