Dead Center (The Rookie Club Book 1) (26 page)

The muscles in her neck loosened and she focused on a spot at the back of the yard. On the other side of the house, cars passed in the distance, too far to hear. The room was quiet except for the whine of the wind through the open window.

Barney let out a moan on the bed, went back to sleep.

Her mind settled on her family—on Tony, Mick, on Pat Galen, and her father. And on their mothers. She couldn't remember her own—the memory was always still, an image from a photograph. But Lana—she could remember Lana with her dark hair and light eyes. Jamie pictured her bright eyes, wide and open and smiling, her contagious laugh. When she let it loose, it was untamed and free, like she couldn't control it. It used to make the kids smile just hearing her.

But in the end, the pain had stolen her laugh. Even her eyes had lost their humor. That Lana tried to mask it from all of them was her way, but it was there just below the surface. In the last weeks of her life, she'd let the kids into her room for only a few minutes at a time. Then she'd ushered them out so she could rest. And as soon as their backs were turned, her face would grow rigid in agony. Sometimes, when Jamie would look back, she'd see it.

Mick had been a fireball just like Lana. Always the first out of the station house, he was a born leader. Tony was quieter, shy, more like Pat.

Tony had said they'd had it hard growing up, but Jamie disagreed. They'd had two parents—three for the years with Lana. Their fathers had taken them to the firehouse every few weeks so they could climb on the truck and slide down the pole. The men had taken the kids bowling, thrown the ball with them. Pat taught them to play gin rummy for pretzels.

And then somewhere, it had fallen apart. It hadn't been as far back as the rape, although she was confident it had started there. Marisa left, but they remained in the same house with the memory of it all around them. Each of them shared the guilt—the dads, but also each of the kids for not having been there or not being able to stop it.

Mick turned fifteen and started to hang with a pack of older boys. Tony and Jamie were thirteen, starting high school. They were sucked into the mainstream. Four years later, Jamie left. That was it. She'd come to California for college and the boys—Tony, Mick, Pat and her father—had stayed in New York. Most right until the end.

She heard the garage door open, felt relief. She walked down the stairs, Barney trailing slowly behind. She opened the door. "Can I help?"

Tony nodded. "Sure. Grab a bag."

They unloaded the groceries into the kitchen and Jamie slowly pulled things out—cheese, lunch meats, chips, chicken breasts, ice cream. "You got a lot of stuff."

He looked at her for a moment. "I thought we could use some food around here."

She nodded, felt relieved. Suicidal men didn't buy food.

"I found these, too. Remember them?" He passed her a pack of baseball cards like the ones they had collected as kids.

She smiled.

"You used to sell me and Mick your cards and you'd hide the gum in your drawer with the money."

She frowned. "I don't remember that."

He smiled. "You did. I was collecting Donnie Mattingly cards. Must've been eight-four because it was his first year playing first, and I didn't have any money. Dad wouldn't give me any and Mick would just buy the damn cards and keep them for himself.

"I was desperate for more cards and you gave me a bunch of money. It felt like a thousand dollars to me. You must've pulled ten dollars out of your sock drawer one day. And you gave it all to me."

She smiled at the memory, tried to picture Tony's excited face. She was sure it had been worth every cent. "I hope you still have those cards."

"Ah, shit. Deborah probably has them now."

The moment burst like a bubble. She turned to put the groceries away, wondered where Tony got the money to pay for them. It had been a long time since he'd worked. "You okay for cash?"

His eyes hit the ground. He turned his back, whispered, "From Mick. From nine eleven. I was next of kin. Well, Dad, then me."

Jamie watched his back, searching for the right thing to say. She walked to the kitchen sink, struggling. Damn it. Why did it have to be so hard? She took a breath. "I'm glad you're here, T."

He looked up slowly. His wide eyes were glassy.

She blinked hard.
Come on, Tony.
She glanced at the ceiling and back, felt her own eyes fill. She stepped out, sucked a deep breath. "Shit," she said finally.

Then she crossed to him. She pulled a box of crackers from his hand, set it down. She wrapped her arms around his back, pulled him against her.

She heard the quick intake of his breath and felt his sobs as they let loose.

"Jamie," he croaked, and she held tighter as if she could squeeze the pain right out of him.

"I'm here, Tony."

"You're it, Jamie. You're all I've got."

"I'm not going anywhere, T. You've got me."

He gasped and sobbed harder, and she closed her eyes, the tears flushing down her cheeks. They stood there for a long time. She thought about their families and about Tim, about Emily Osbourne and Hailey and Mackenzie and even about Natasha Devlin. About all that life had handed her and all she knew was yet to come—the never-ending cycle of hardships. And the moments of relief. The tiny grains of joy. They were there, too.

As she loosened her grip, swiped the tears from her face, she wondered what obstacle would come next—a new rape victim, another attack?

Surely, things never settled for long.

Then she considered that maybe she'd had enough. Maybe this time would be different.

Maybe.

Chapter 26

Monday morning traffic was bumper to bumper on 101 heading south toward the bridge, which had seemed empty over the last few months. Everyone said that there were fewer people on the roads because of the high cost of tolls and gas. Well, if everyone was taking public transportation, there must have been some sort of mass shutdown that morning.

Jamie arrived at the station house late and already sweating underneath a navy wool blazer.

As she rushed through the department door, Dorothy, the Sex Crimes secretary, snarled, "You're late."

Jamie bit her tongue and passed the woman without a comment. "Hag," she whispered loud enough for a few others to hear as she knocked on the conference room door.

"Come in."

She recognized her captain's voice and opened the door. The small room was full, and it took a few seconds to absorb all the faces that surrounded the pitted old table. To her left, at the head of the table, was her own Captain, Ben Jules. Next to him, Linda James then Mackenzie.

Jamie stopped on her. "You're out. You okay?"

She nodded without speaking. Her face looked worse today—the bruising deeper, the swelling worse. One eye was completely closed. At least she was there. She could think and walk. Speak. She would survive.

Chip Washington sat beside Mackenzie, and beyond him was a man she didn't recognize. She finally made it around the table and found Hailey Wyatt on her left.

"Sit down, Vail," her captain said, pounding on the table in an unfamiliar gesture of impatience.

Jamie took the closest chair.

"You know everyone?"

She looked around and nodded. The man at the other head didn't stand and didn't offer a hand. "Captain David Marshall, Homicide." Hailey's boss.

Jamie nodded and looked over at Hailey, who raised an eyebrow just slightly. It was strange to be in a room with all their superiors. The rookie, Mackenzie Wallace, and her captain, Linda James. Jamie and Captain Jules. Hailey and Captain Marshall. They rarely met like this, and within seconds, Jamie wanted to leave.

As soon as she was seated, Captain Jules turned to Mackenzie. "Officer Wallace, in your statement, you said you were certain that Officer Scanlan wasn't your attacker."

Mackenzie nodded.

"You still sure?" he asked.

"Positive."

Jamie sat forward. "It's all related, somehow, Captain—Devlin, the rapes, Mackenzie's attack."

Jules nodded. She'd already told him her theory when they'd spoken yesterday. He looked up at Hailey's boss, Captain Marshall. "They want to work it as one case, share information. I don't have a problem with that. Do you?"

Marshall steepled his hands. "Wyatt's got two high-profile homicide cases going. I can't have her pulled off of them on any tangents related to rape or any other crime. I need some arrests made on these murders."

Jules frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Linda James interjected. "Officer Wallace would like to help. She's sharp and will be good for legwork and that sort of thing—phone calls, follow-ups. Plus, she won't be doing her beat for a while—not until we catch this guy."

Marshall frowned and started to shake his head.

"Chief Jackson agrees they should work it together," Jules added.

Jamie watched Jules, wondered if he was lying. It seemed odd that he would have talked to the chief of police on Devlin's murder, especially since it was Marshall's case, not his, that was so high profile. Maybe it had to do with Scanlan.

Marshall didn't test him. Instead, he looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Fine. Get to it, ladies. But don't let this conspiracy theory trip you up. You've discovered some coincidences but nothing to prove it's anything more. Not yet anyway."

Captain Jules began to address Marshall on a few logistics.

Mackenzie turned to Jamie and whispered, "Where do we start?"

"I'm going to drag Marchek in, see if you can ID him in a lineup."

Mackenzie nodded and Jamie could see her throat tighten with anxiety.

Jamie kept her voice low. "If we trust the message we got, I guess the best place to start the murder investigation is with men Natasha was involved with inside the department."

Linda nodded. "If this guy's a cop and he killed Natasha, that seems like as good a place as any."

"That's going to be a long list," Jamie said. To Hailey, she whispered, "Maybe there will be a stutterer on it."

Hailey nodded, eyes narrowed.

Jamie watched her. "You have an idea."

"I think maybe I know who to ask first."

From the corner of her eye, Jamie saw Linda and Mackenzie exchange a questioning glance.

But when Hailey's gaze met hers, Jamie knew exactly whom she meant. If Daniels was having an affair with Hailey, why not Devlin, too?

Hell, everyone else had.

"People. People," Marshall called, returning the focus to the meeting at hand. "Is Daniels coming in with Officer Scanlan or are we done? I've got a briefing in twenty minutes."

Jules glanced at Jamie.

"I'm ready," she said.

Washington opened the door and waved them in. Scanlan came in behind Daniels. He took the seat beside Jamie.

Jules spoke first. "Okay, we're all here to talk about the incident on Geary on Friday night. Officer Scanlan has agreed not to press charges against his fellow officers. So we can avoid an investigation on that."

Jamie sent a glare at Scanlan and turned to Captain Jules. "That's a load of crap."

He raised a hand. "Let me finish."

She crossed her arms and tilted her chair back.

Scanlan put his foot under the leg of the chair and pushed her back.

She lost her balance and the chair toppled backwards. Hailey grabbed hold of the chair in an attempt to stop her from falling on the floor. The chair hit the wall, preventing Jamie from landing on her ass. She rocked it back onto all four legs and was out of the seat in two seconds. She bent over Scanlan, fist raised. "Listen, asshole. You touch me again and I'll shoot your fat ass."

Jules was up, too. He took her arm and pulled her back.

Hailey stood beside her. "He knocked her back, Captain. He was out of line, not her."

"Enough," Daniels said. "If we can't act like adults, then we'll have to put someone else on this case."

"Fine by me," Jamie said. "You want to take it?"