Hell Is Burning (25 page)

“Doctor Bentley will handle this. You can head back in, and I’ll call you if I need a pick up next time.”

The woman turned, and the comment she made had everyone flinching with the exception of Doctor Bentley. He was apparently well used to being insulted because of his sexual orientation. Now that he was out, so was the ugliness.

He touched her arm, signaling that it was okay.

Only it wasn’t.

He was family.

Emma couldn’t let it go.

“Doctor Hanlon?”

She gave her a withering look. “What?”

“I hope that comment about gayness was directed at my joviality because if it was aimed at anyone else, you will find yourself on the wrong side of a report, filed by me. I’ll make sure that internal affairs and the HR department are notified, and I’ll file a big fat suit against you. I’m offended.”

She stared at her.

“Oh, yeah I will. If you think you can get a lawyer to match one of mine, you’re in for a rude awakening. Mine will eat yours for breakfast.”

“Are you done, Detective Croft?” she hissed in displeasure.

Emma knew the entire staff was staring at the woman. She’d dressed her down enough. Doctor Hanlon got a dose of her own medicine.

“Yeah, for now I am, but we’ll continue this later if that type of disrespect ever happens in my presence again.”

The woman left, and Emma turned toward Steele. “I’m sorry about that.”

He shrugged. “You get used to it.”

“I don’t, and I won’t allow it on my crime scenes. I’m running this circus, and it’s not happening. I will apologize for her behavior, and it will be brought up with my superior.”

Steele never had people protect him like that before, and it was really sweet. “You always were my favorite detective. This is why. I wish I was straight.”

Greyson laughed. “Great. I have another man in love with my woman. First you’re shacking up with my brother, and now you’re coveting my girl. What’s next?”

Steele wiggled his eyebrows at him. “I like to be thorough. I’ll work my way through the family.”

“Jesus,” Croft muttered when he realized who was next.

Emma wouldn’t laugh. She had to be serious, but the look on her husband’s face was funny as hell.

“Back to work,” Steele stated, ordering his team to do their job. As they milled around, Steele pulled on his latex gloves. “Lower her.”

Emma couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “She’s going to have some sort of facial trauma.”

Steele agreed. From the way the pillowcase was sticking to her flesh, it was pretty obvious that someone had lost control. Then again, this killer was hanging people in trees like sick ornaments.

Any control from the start was questionable.

The team continued taking pictures. When they were finished, Steele cut the rope around her throat and dropped it into an evidence bag.

“Do I need to point out that the materials used for this victim matches the first two, and not Detective Westmore-Briggs?”

Emma already saw it.

“No. You were right. We’re back at the game lands, and the original rope. He’s either jacking with us, or we have two killers.”

He cut up the side of the hood to preserve her face beneath it. The dried blood was sticking to her battered skin. When he pulled it back, he shook his head.

“Brown hair and blue eyes seem to be the winning combination for this lunatic.”

They could see that.

“Give me what you can,” she asked. “I know you don’t have much, but I need a direction, Doc.”

He understood. “Her hands have no defensive wounds and neither do her arms. It’s odd that although she has so much facial damage, she didn't put her arms up to block her face.”

Emma saw that.

“So, she was dead?” Greyson asked.

“If someone was wailing on your face, you’d wake up and defend yourself. Since there are no ligature marks around her wrists, I’m betting she wasn’t bound. Plus we can add in that head wounds bleed like a bitch, and she really has minimal blood loss from the facial trauma.”

“Dead it is,” Emma stated. “So our killer has lost his mind and was beating on a dead woman. That gives me so much hope for the next victim,” she said sarcastically.

“He lost his mind about three victims ago,” stated Steele, “or is that four? That’s your conundrum, not mine. There are days that I’m glad I’m only the ME.”

“Thanks. I love a team player,” Emma stated. She was just grateful that he was good at his job and spotted the differences in the killings.

“Strangled?”

He nodded. “We have petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes, and I can see bruising around her neck. When I get her to the lab, I’ll start her autopsy. I’ll need you to give me a few hours.”

“One last thing,” Emma stated.

“Yes?”

“Can you give me a time of death?”

His assistant handed him the probe, and Doctor Bentley slid it into the dead woman’s liver to get the temperature. In his head, he calculated the math.

“I’m going to go with just under ten hours, give or take a few. She’s been outside all night, so that might alter it a bit. It gets chilly in the forest.”

Emma knew they were down to the wire. “I don’t know if I’ll have time to stop in for this autopsy, Steele,” she stated. “When you have it done, ship me the information, and if I need a walk through, I’ll be down.”

“You should be okay, Emma. This looks to be just like the other victims. I’m really not expecting anything to jump out and surprise me.”

God!

She hoped not.

That was the last thing they needed.

Motioning to her husband, they headed back toward their vehicle. Mace was tied up with the media.

“He’ll catch a ride back,” Emma stated, whipping out a text message to him. “We need to head back in and check on our team. Hopefully, someone has something we can use.”

Croft hoped that was the case.

As his wife hopped into the vehicle, he got that feeling. It was like they had eyes all over them. It was making him edgy.

No, it was making the sniper in him edgy.

He wanted to get her back inside, and fast.

There was no doubt in his mind that someone was keeping track of them.

He could feel it in his gut.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Chapter Seven 

Thursday Mid-Morning

When they arrived at the Vegas show, the pit crew was busily setting up for the night. There were two performances scheduled, and no one wanted to take time to talk--especially Noah Smith.

When he saw them coming, he looked like he was ready to bolt. There was no doubt in either of their minds that this wasn’t the first time a cop or Fed came looking for him.

His face said it all.

They’d like to say that was odd, but with this man’s past, it wasn’t.

“Noah Smith?” Tessa asked, holding out her badge as Paris did the same.

“Yeah, who wants to know?”

“FBI. We have some questions for you.”

The man looked three days past worried. It made Tessa edgy because they didn't know if he had a weapon on him, or not.

“Okay, what?” he asked.

“Do you know Blanca Reilly?”

He immediately relaxed. “Yeah, I know that crazy bitch. What’s she saying I did now? All that’s left is that I’m her baby daddy. She likes to make shit up.”

That was curious.

Apparently, they weren’t the happy engaged couple that her social media page said they were.

Shocking.

Someone lied.

“She’s not saying anything,” Tessa stated. “She’s dead. Her body was found, and you’re a person of interest in our investigation.”

He laughed, and then realized they weren’t yanking his chain. “Wait! Seriously? Are you two really Feds? I didn't think they let handicapped people in that kind of job.”

Tessa went to react, but Paris, the calm one, touched her hand. Immediately, she took a breath.

The last thing they needed was for Tessa to punch someone as she defended Paris. They’d been there and done that before.

“Do you think we’d be here if this situation wasn’t serious?” Tessa asked, wanting to take out the man’s teeth the hard way.

The man led them to some seats not far from the pit. “Hey! I’m sorry, but I just figured this was another one of her games.”

They were confused.

“I should explain. You see, I hooked up with Blanca not that long ago. She was into bikers and roadies. I was at a bar, and she offered herself up to me. It was the hottest sex ever, and I will admit that I used her as a booty call when I needed some…tension relief, but that’s it. We aren’t an item. I don’t settle down, and I certainly didn't want to get on that crazy train.”

Tessa didn't say anything. What she was thinking was how someone should slap the stupid out of the man.

“After a few random nights together, she got it into her head that we were going to have a life together. Only, that wasn’t going to happen. I was crystal clear to her, but she never got it. She’d show up in a trench coat with nothing underneath, I’d jump her bones, and then go about my merry way. If a woman is going to offer herself up, I’m dining and then running for my life. I’m not a one babe kind of guy. I like to go out and share my awesomeness with as many hot women as possible.”

“I see,” Tessa said. She was so very grateful that she found a gentleman in Vegas. There were some nasty choices out there.

“Do you? Maybe you’d like to see more of me.”

It took all she had not to toss her cookies.

Paris didn't like anyone winking at his woman, but in this situation, there wasn’t anything he could do. Tessa was beautiful, and she could also handle herself.

Noah Smith had no clue what he was asking for with his innuendos. If there was one thing his girl hated, it was when a suspect flirted, trying to get her to take it easy on them.

It set her right off.

“Although,” he continued, letting his gaze run up and down her figure, “for you, I might make that sacrifice. You have the prettiest eyes, Agent, and I could do something more permanent.”

She wanted to take Noah Smith’s bandana and pull it down over his mouth to shut him up, but she was already on thin ice after belting her ex-partner. Greyson Croft would fire her ass, and they had a mortgage to think about.

Instead, she went with rational and calm. “My fiancé thinks so, and his is the only opinion that matters. How about we focus on the dead woman, and not you trying to get into my pants? I’m here for Blanca’s sake, not you trying to get lucky.”

He laughed. “I like a feisty babe. They’re the best kind. As for your fiancé, he doesn’t have to know. I’m sure your partner can keep a secret. Right, guy?”

Paris fought hard not to laugh. He was enjoying being out in the field with Tessa. It was good to see some things never changed. She was getting more irritated by the second, and the fuse was lit.

The fireworks were coming.

“I know a place we can get some privacy.”

Tessa had enough. She grabbed Noah Smith by the front of the concert t-shirt and glared into his eyes. “My partner here, Doctor Paris Archer, is my fiancé. He’s not ‘guy’, and he’s well aware that you’re putting the moves on
his
‘babe’, so I suggest you tone it down. If you don’t show some respect, I’m going to make you bleed all over that shirt.”

His eyes went wide as he glanced back and forth between the two Feds before raising his hands in surrender. “Okay! I’m sorry. I didn't know!”

Paris grinned. “Yeah, I get that a lot,” he offered, and it was true. Not many people thought a geek in a chair was going to score a witchy eyed hottie like Tessa. He had gotten very lucky. “Personally, I like a feisty babe too. That’s why I’m marrying her.”

Tessa let him go. “Now, let’s get back to Blanca, since her death is the reason we’re here. Do you really want us to believe that she made up everything about being your fiancée? I think you’re just being a douchebag. Convince me otherwise, or you’re going to jail for her murder.”

He shook his head. “I swear. You bang a girl three nights in a row, and they think you’re getting married. She was crazy in the head.”

“Was that all I had to do?” Paris asked. “Shit. Here, I actually romanced my ‘babe’.”

“Romance is for chumps.”

Noah wasn’t winning any popularity contests.

“Can we get back to this?” Tessa asked.

“Sure! Sorry! I didn't hurt Blanca. I just didn't love her. I knew she was telling everyone we were an item, but she seemed lonely, so I let it go. I’m a catch.”

Tessa rolled her eyes. “I need an alibi.”

“For when?” he asked.

Tessa rattled off the date and approximate time. As he thought about it, she checked out the area. Maybe she and Paris would have to catch a show. They might be able to score the Crofts’ box seats if they were lucky. It would be a great wedding present, since the honeymoon was going to be on standby until the case was over.

“I was working. That’s a show night, and I was here until around one in the morning doing my job. We had a double show, much like tonight. I arrived around this time, and spent the whole night setting up, and then breaking down. You can contact my boss.”

“Oh, we will.”

“Are we done?” he asked. “I have to get back to work. We have some new broad to answer to now. Randall Mason was tough, but this woman shouldn’t be running a business. This is no place for a set of tits unless it’s on stage wearing feathers.”

Tessa laughed at that. Not because he was funny, but because of the ‘tits’ in question. More importantly, the big Greyson watchdog who guarded them.

“What?”

“Your boss is actually our boss. Detective Emma Croft is going to love hearing your opinion on her. Maybe we’ll just skip her and tell Greyson Croft. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

The man swallowed, but said nothing. It appeared Tessa had put the fear of God in him.

As they rolled away, Tessa was happy to hear him calling after her to explain himself.

“I was right,” Paris said, wheeling himself up the ramp and to the main lobby.

“About?”

“I do like a feisty woman.”

She punched him.

“Hey! Shit! Tessie, that hurt!”

“Welcome back, partner. I’m an equal opportunity abuser.”

       
         
* * *
  Croft & Croft  * * *

FBI Las Vegas

The interview with Christopher Ford wasn’t an easy one. The entire time Curtis was locked up with the man, he wanted to be anywhere but there.

It was probably a shame the man wasn’t out on the streets using his weight to break down a suspect. Curtis would have been scared shitless if not for two reasons.

He wasn’t guilty.

And he worked under Greyson Croft. The man ate weakness as a snack in the workplace. Ford was tough, but the ‘Ice King’ was brutal.

When it was done, he headed back down to the conference room where everyone had gathered. On his way there, he ran into Emma, and she looked concerned.

“Curtis, are you okay?” she asked, giving her boss a dirty look.

That one glare said it all.

There was no doubt that the young agent was like her child, and she didn't want to see him broken any more than he already was. That meant by people who were supposed to protect him.

Family stood up for the people in their circle.

Curtis nodded. “Yeah, Mom, I’m just exhausted. The rubber hose routine is draining. Captain Ford is almost as bad as Greyson.”

They all heard the weariness in his voice. It was evident that he was struggling to hold it all together. This was something that none of them would wish on their worst enemy. First he lost his wife to a killer, then he found out she was cheating, and now he was a suspect in her murder.

Yeah, it was a shitty week for Curtis Briggs.

Croft couldn’t help but be concerned. Curtis was his to protect. They’d staked their claim on him. “Why don’t you head up to my office? You can crash on the couch and regroup. If you want, Linda will order you something to eat from the cafeteria. She’ll put it on my tab.”

He nodded and headed away. When the offering of unlimited food didn't cheer him up, they knew Curtis was falling apart inside.

He was lost.

They had to do something.

“What did you do to him?” Emma hissed, giving Chris the evil mother’s eye.

Ford laughed, undeterred by her anger. “Do you think I became captain, then commissioner, and then captain again by luck? I happen to be really good in interrogation. I can break the best of them.”

She watched the elevator close behind Curtis, and more importantly how he rested his head against the wall like he was defeated.

“He just lost his wife. Really, Chris? We all know he wasn’t guilty of her murder. We personally vouched for him. It was supposed to be babysitting, not browbeating.”

He stared at her as he crossed his arms across his large chest. Regardless of their relationship, he was still her boss. “Tread lightly, Detective.”

Emma shut it down.

He was right. This was her boss. Friend or not, she couldn’t lose her temper with Captain Ford. He’d had their backs when no one else would.

“You wanted him cleared, and I did it. That boy didn’t kill her. I can tell by the way he’s mourning her, even though she shit kicked his heart to hell and back. Brynn damaged him, but not enough that he’d string her up in a copycat murder.”

Well, that offered some relief.

“Yes, I feel sorry for him, Detective, but I was the only one who could be objective. You aren’t when it comes to him. For Christ’s sake, he calls you mom! I really think he believes it too.”

Emma opened her mouth, and then closed it again. She was torn between telling the captain she was, for all intents and purposes, his mother, and bitching that he didn’t need the hardcore interrogation with Curtis.

The boy was cut from the Greyson cloth. That was his mini-me clone. If Greyson went rogue, avenging her death, they’d never have enough evidence to put the ex-sniper behind bars.

“Wise choice, Detective, since I’m your boss. It’s a better choice since we’re friends and want to stay that way. He’s not the killer. I put it in my report.”

She had to let it go.

If she didn't, then she’d make herself look weak, and when you played with men all day in a tough job like hers, you couldn’t risk it.

There was no whining and bellyaching in homicide.

“Thank you for clearing him,” she stated, hissing it through her teeth like steam from a kettle.

He laughed as she tried to stay in control. “Oh, you’d love to punch me. Oddly, that’s sexy.”

Greyson growled at the use of the term ‘sexy’. That was twice in one day that people on their team referred to his wife as that. It was on his damn nerves. “Tread lightly, or I don’t see Cuban cigars and good bourbon anywhere in your future.”