In Bed With the Badge (9 page)

On her way to the front door, she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Pushing his chair away from the table, Sam got up and crossed to her. “Thanks,” he told her sincerely. “For everything.”

She raised and lowered her shoulders in a careless gesture. There was no need to thank her, although she had to admit the fact that he did pleased her. “That’s what partners are for.”

An impulse suddenly flashed through him, so quickly and sharply that it stunned Sam. She was standing only a breath away from him. Maybe it was gratitude, or maybe it was a sudden need, but he wanted to kiss her.

Common sense prevailed and restrained him. “See you tomorrow.”

Riley had absolutely no idea why there was this sudden rise of temperature within her body, why the space
between them seemed to shrink without either one of them making a move. She needed fresh air, she decided.

Now.

“Tomorrow,” Riley echoed. Still facing him, she reached behind her and pulled the door open. The next second, she’d made her retreat. It couldn’t honestly be called anything else.

He thought the noise was coming from outside.

A moment ago he’d been asleep, but the sound had spliced through the darkness in his bedroom, rousing him even as it teased his brain for identification.

What
was
that?

Propping himself up on his elbows, Sam cocked his head and listened intensely. His apartment wasn’t located that far from the communal pool. It seemed like someone was always throwing a party in that general vicinity. Parties that lasted well into the night and occasionally growing progressively louder by the hour. These hot October nights had everyone wanting to cool off in the pool.

But this didn’t sound like some sort of a party noise. This sounded more like someone crying. A
young
someone.

And the sound wasn’t coming from outside. It was coming from inside his apartment.

Sam bolted upright.

Lisa.

He was on his feet, heading toward her bedroom before his brain properly kicked in. Before his desire to
maintain distance could keep him in his room, hoping to wait her out.

His inclination was to throw open the door, but he didn’t want to frighten her, so he knocked. But there was no response, even when he gently rapped on the door again. He could hear her crying.

“The hell with this,” he muttered under his breath. Turning the doorknob, he eased open the guest room door.

Lisa was there, a blond, wraithlike figure lost in a double bed.

Self-preservation had him momentarily entertaining the idea of quietly backtracking out and returning to his room. The next second, Sam kicked the notion to the curb and walked into the room.

“Lisa?”

There was no response. Her heart-wrenching sobbing continued. He couldn’t just leave her like this.

If you woke up a kid in the middle of a nightmare, did it have any kind of repercussions? The magnitude of the things he didn’t know when it came to kids was damn near overwhelming, he thought.

Taking a breath, Sam repeated her name. When Lisa still didn’t respond, he bent over the bed and lightly shook her by the shoulder. “Lisa?”

Her eyes flew open.

Startled, confused, and almost immediately embarrassed, Lisa turned her face into her pillow, struggling to stop the sobs that had besieged her. Her body shook from the effort to silence herself.

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. “Shh,” he
soothed. “It’s going to be okay.” He said the words to reassure himself as well as her. As gently as if he were trying to capture a snowflake in his hand, he gathered the little girl into his arms.

Frightened and still very embarrassed, Lisa attempted to resist for a moment. But the sadness was just too much for her and she gave in, melting into his embrace.

“I miss Mama,” she sobbed against his shoulder.

Instinctively, he began to rock with her. “I know, honey,” he said softly. “I know. But it’s going to be all right.”

Although, for the life of him, he didn’t see how at the moment.

She clung to him and he let her. It was the least he could do.

And the most.

Sam held his daughter for a long time. Until she finally fell asleep in his arms.

Then he held her a little longer.

P
ulling into the driveway of the modest two-story home she owned—the house that actually owned her—Riley turned off the ignition and just sat there for a moment, trying to summon a temporary wave of strength in order to get out of the vehicle.

Beyond bone-tired, she felt as if she’d crammed a full two days into one. She took in a deep breath and blew it out again. There were only two options open to her. She would either have to learn to do with less sleep—or find a way to become twins. Too much went on in each day for her to handle everything.

Because her garage was chock full of things she’d been promising herself to sort through—another chore waiting to be tackled, she thought, less than
enthused—Riley had to park her car in the driveway the last few months.

The second she got out of the vehicle, she felt him watching her. Despite the hour, she knew he was out there, waiting for her. It had become a given.

Waving her hand above her head in a general greeting, she called out, “Hi, Howard.”

The front door of the house next to hers opened. Or rather, it opened wider. He’d been posted there, his door ajar, for a while now, impatiently awaiting her arrival. Howard Gray, a retired, slightly overweight mechanical engineer in his early seventies stepped out onto his porch.

He smiled in response to her greeting. He hadn’t always smiled. But growing close to Riley had coaxed it out of him.

“Getting in kind of late, aren’t you, Riley?” he asked.

Still tired, she decided to talk to him for a moment and crossed from her driveway to his, moving around the plum tree that separated their properties.

“Howard, what did I tell you about waiting up for me?” she asked, not bothering to hide the affection in her voice.

Howard Gray had been her neighbor ever since she’d moved in three years ago. Somewhat standoffish in the beginning, the man had eventually warmed up to her. So much so that one evening, during a display of fireworks during the Memorial Day weekend, he had told her about his son.

Egan Gray had been one of the widower’s two sons, a police officer with the Aurora Police Department just like she was at the time she’d moved in. The only dif
ference was that Egan had been gunned down when he came to the aid of a convenience store clerk who was being robbed. Egan had been off duty at the time. Struggling to come to terms with the tragedy, Howard tried to bury his sorrow and lose himself in the various collections he’d amassed. Consequently, his five-bedroom house was filled to bursting with books, magazines and long-playing record albums he’d been collecting for more years than she’d been alive—but it was all to no avail. The hurt inside him continued to grow and fester—until Riley had moved in next door. After finding out about the old man’s loss, Riley took it upon herself to get Howard to come around a little. In effect, she’d adopted him, making him the grandfather she’d never known. And whenever Andrew Cavanaugh threw a party, she made it a point to invite Howard.

At first Howard would drag his feet, coming up with excuse after excuse, none of which she accepted. With time, she wore him down completely and he began to attend willingly, looking forward to the gatherings.

In addition, the former engineer had also appointed himself her guardian angel, watching over her whenever he could. In a way, she kept him linked to Egan. And it was she who’d encouraged him to mend fences with his estranged son, Ethan. The latter lived back east but flew out to visit now twice a year.

“I forget,” he deadpanned in response to her question. “A man my age, you can’t expect me to remember everything now, can you?”

“A man your age,” Riley echoed with a dismissive
laugh. “Howard, you are one of the youngest men that I know.”

He chuckled. “Does your mother know you’re flirting with a man three times your age?” he asked and she could have sworn she saw a twinkle in his eye, thanks to the porch being so well lit. “All right,” he announced, “now that I know you’re safe, I can go to bed.”

“You should have gone to bed earlier,” she told him. “Staying up, waiting for me to come home, isn’t good for your health, Howard.”

He paused in his doorway and gave her an enigmatic smile. “On the contrary, Riley, it’s very good for my health.”

She knew what he was saying. Everyone needed to be connected to someone. And he was connected to her. In an odd way, it gave him a reason to get up in the morning.

Riley smiled at him. “Good night, Howard.”

“Good night, Riley,” he replied, then closed his door.

She waited where she was until she heard him flip his lock into place, then withdrew. By the time she was on her own front step, Riley saw the lights on Howard’s first floor go out. The rest of Howard’s house went dark as she let herself into her house.

And another day draws to a close, she thought as another wave of weariness swept over her.

“Heads up, you’ve got a third one.”

A little more than two weeks had passed since her stepfather had transferred her to the robbery division. She, along with Wyatt, had caught the second of the
home invasion cases on her first full day there. Consequently, she didn’t have to ask what the lieutenant was talking about as she looked over her shoulder to find him planted directly behind her. Riley could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing up—and not in a good way. She pushed away from her desk and turned around.

Questions regarding this news bulletin began to pop up, then multiply in her head, but she knew better than to ask them. That was for Wyatt to do since he was the primary on the case and Barker, she’d quickly learned, was very big on protocol and red tape. Red—if the ties he wore every day were any indication—was his favorite color and an affinity for red tape seemed to come naturally to him.

Wyatt’s desk buttressed against hers so that he could look up into the lieutenant’s dark eyes. Wyatt’s first question was, “Same MO?”

“Yes, same MO. That’s what makes it a third one,” Barker replied, not sparing the sarcasm. He shifted his stony gaze in Riley’s direction. “Where are we on the second one?”

We. As if the lieutenant had given them any input beyond the first bit of information that had sent them to the Wilsons. She had a feeling that he was the kind who worked his people unsparingly, then took the credit for their breakthroughs.

“‘We’ have questioned the Wilsons until they’re sick of the sight of us. We’ve run down everyone they’ve spoken to in the last six months, including grocery clerks,” she threw in, then concluded with disgust, “Nothing.”

The answer obviously didn’t please him. “Well, see
if you can come up with ‘something’ this time, McIntyre,” the lieutenant said in a patronizing tone. He handed Wyatt the names and address of the home invaders’ newest victims. “The mayor doesn’t like unsolved crimes on the books.”

“He’s not the only one,” she muttered under her breath as the lieutenant made his way back to his office.

Sam was already on his feet, slipping on his sports jacket. “Ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” she responded, pushing back her chair a little farther. She grabbed her jacket and her shoulder bag, hurrying to catch up with him.

“Coming over tonight?” Sam asked her as they passed several detectives on their way out of the squad room.

One of them, Alex Sung, looked up. A twelve-year veteran of the division, there was mild surprise registered on his face as he looked from Wyatt to Riley and then back again.

“It’s not what you think,” Riley told the older man flippantly. “I’m helping him study for his citizenship test.”

Sung’s partner, Reed Allen, stared at Wyatt, confusion on his face. “You’re not a citizen, Wyatt?” he asked uncertainly.

Wyatt blew out an annoyed breath. “Don’t pay any attention to her,” he advised. “Somewhere a village is looking for its idiot.”

“Then we have somewhere to send your next job application,” she countered cheerfully.

“Overdid that a little, don’t you think?” Wyatt asked her when they were outside the squad room.

Her eyes widened in deliberate innocence. “Oh, you thought I was kidding?”

He laughed shortly, shaking his head.

Pressing for the elevator, Sam found that the car was already on their floor when the elevator opened its doors.

“With you,” Sam said honestly, getting in, “I can never really tell.”

She liked that. It meant she was keeping him on his toes. Off balance. That leveled the playing field for her. Because something about him definitely threw her off balance.

“To answer your question, yes, I can come over.” The elevator closed its doors again. She pressed for the first floor. “Lisa asking for me?”

He nodded. “Every morning.” While he was relieved to be sharing the responsibility, he had to admit that it did bother him a little that Lisa apparently preferred McIntyre to him.

“Eventually, you know, you’re going to have to fly solo,” she told him as the doors opened again. They got off and walked toward the front of the building. “Spend the morning
and
the evening with her without a go-between getting into the mix somewhere.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” he replied vaguely. Reaching the front door, he opened it for her, then checked the address on the paper that Barker had given him. “Same part of town as the other two, except this one’s a little closer to the center than the last one.”

“Maybe the invaders are getting more democratic in their choice of victims,” she cracked. Assuming that he
would want to drive, she headed toward where he usually parked his vehicle.

“Sure would be nice to find that they had something more in common than just geography,” Sam commented. He automatically slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling around for his car keys.

“We will,” she promised.

Sam unlocked the door on her side. All the locks released at the same time. “I’m not as optimistic as you are,” he told her, rounding the trunk and coming around to his side.

She got into the car. “I noticed. But we’ll find it. Maybe even this time around,” she added.

So far they’d established that the two couples didn’t know each other and had nothing in common except for living in a house valued in the millions. Beyond that, there seemed to be no common denominator.

Early that morning, Riley had run down the list of information they’d compiled for what seemed like the umpteenth time. The first victims, Edith and Joel Marston, attended church services every Sunday, the Wilsons didn’t. The Marstons had two children under the age of eighteen who went to private schools, the Wilsons were childless. The Marstons took three vacations a year. Mr. Wilson was a workaholic and he and his wife hadn’t been away in close to three years. Mrs. Wilson went to the gym at least four times a week. The Marstons didn’t have a gym membership.

And so it went. The two couples’ paths didn’t cross—
except that they had to, she thought as they drove to the home of the third victims. Someway, somehow, the paths
had
to cross.

The third home invasion victim was John Cahil, a divorced college professor and the father of two teenaged sons, neither of whom were with him at the time the invasion went down. His girlfriend of ten months wasn’t as fortunate. After dining at their favorite restaurant, John Cahil and his girlfriend, Rhonda Williams, came back to his home, made love while inebriated and fell asleep in his California King-sized bed.

That was where they were, sound asleep in his bedroom, when the two black-clad robbers struck.

According to the information gathered by the first officer on the scene, the MO was identical to the other two robberies. With one slight difference. This time, one of the robbers, the smaller of the two, had lingered over Rhonda, who became hysterical. Despite being tied up, John had voiced his protest, calling the robber several unflattering names. He’d succeeded in diverting the threat away from Rhonda because the robber had beaten him for his stab at chivalry. His accomplice had been forced to pull him off the professor and angrily told him to remember what they had come for.

Other than that, everything went according to the old plan. The victims had been tied up, their mouths and limbs duct-taped and just before the ordeal was over, they were chloroformed.

When Riley and Wyatt arrived, the professor and his girlfriend were twelve hours into their ordeal. Other than the hours that she’d been unconscious, Rhonda looked as if she’d been crying for most of that time.

After introducing himself and Riley, and extending his sympathy and condolences for what they had been through, Sam asked them to please recount the events that occurred after the robbers had woken them up in the bedroom.

Outraged, the professor flatly refused to talk about it “again.” “I’ve already told that officer everything that happened. You want to know, talk to him,” Cahil snapped. Putting his arms around Rhonda, he tried to console her. She continued sobbing into the handkerchief he’d given her. By now, it was crumpled and soggy.

“Professor, we’re hoping that you might remember something if you tell it again, something you forgot the first time around,” Riley said, hoping to appeal to his softer side. “Even the smallest thing might help us finally get these people.”

His gray eyes seemed to flash as he looked up at them. “I know the statistics for success in these things and they’re dishearteningly low,” he snapped at them. “I teach criminology, for God’s sake.” The statement was accompanied by self-depreciative laughter.

Riley exchanged looks with her partner. Had the experience of actually being the victim of a robbery made the professor go off the deep end?

“There’s irony for you,” Cahil announced bitterly,
still holding Rhonda. “The professor of criminology is a victim of a crime.”

Sniffling, Rhonda gazed up at him. It was obvious that she was desperately trying to pull herself together—and move forward in a positive manner.

“John, calm down,” Rhonda pleaded. She tried to soothe him by placing her hand on his arm, but he shook her off. Suddenly, their roles were reversed and it was she who was trying to comfort the professor.