Skin Deep (28 page)

I
sabella stood
in her freshly cleaned bedroom, tucking the last edge of a light blue sheet beneath the corner of her brand-new mattress.

“You do know that’s probably a waste of time, right?” Kellan’s voice snared her attention from the spot where he’d appeared in the doorway.

“How’s that?” she asked, a flush heating a path over her cheeks at the dark and sexy half-smile riding his mouth in reply.

“Because I’m just going to strip you naked and make you want to tear those sheets right back off.”

The “oh” tumbling from Isabella’s lips was more moan than actual word. “Well, it does make sense to test out the new bed. Quality control, and all that.”

Kellan crossed the floorboards, leaning in to slide a sweet and sinful kiss over her mouth, and oh God, she was totally stupid for this man. “I like how you think. But we should probably eat dinner first.”

“You want to wait?”

“No. I want to lay you down and fuck you senseless. But it’s late and I know you better than to think you actually took a break for lunch today. Plus, that chicken casserole Kylie brought over has been in your oven for twenty minutes, and I can’t lie. It’s starting to smell insane.”

Isabella laughed, although her happiness was short-lived. “Okay, okay. So you’re not wrong about work.” She followed him down the hall to the living room, her brain still trying to get on board with the sight of the new furniture that had been delivered just a few hours ago. “But we’re behind the eight ball now more than ever. DuPree has been underground for a whole week. Not only do we have no new leads, but we can’t even confirm for certain that the scumbag is in Remington.”

“Is there anything the Feds can do?” Kellan asked, and a fresh shot of frustration spread out beneath her skin.

“No. Sinclair has tried to interview DuPree every day this week. He gets the same stonewall every time. No answer at the Metropolitan, no joy at DuPree’s office. Without sufficient evidence to suspect him, we can’t get a warrant to get any farther than the lobby of either place. Not even the FBI can get around that.”

Isabella flopped down on the couch, jamming a hand through her hair. Her tension had been steadily building all week, and as hard as intelligence was working,
nothing
was working.

She said, “We can’t get anywhere because DuPree has covered his tracks so well, and meanwhile, he’s got a bunch of women holed up in some shitty flophouse somewhere in North Point, having God-only-knows-what done to them by Franco and Rampage. We need a break, and we’re not getting anywhere by waiting.”

Realization flickered, chilling Kellan’s stare to an icy blue. “You’re not thinking of going down there instead of Sinclair.”

“Why not?” Okay, so she hadn’t meant to just pop off with the words, but come on. Nothing else was working.

Of course, she should’ve known the suggestion would bring Kellan’s defensive side out to play. “Ah, let’s see. Because DuPree is crazy.” He lifted a finger, keeping count. “He trashed your apartment and threatened you.” Another finger.
Check
. “And because Sinclair would never okay it, and you promised to work with the rest of your unit as a team.”

Isabella’s brain knew he had a point. But her gut? Not such an easy sell. “You’re exactly right. DuPree
is
crazy, which is why he needs to be stopped. Kellan, he killed Angel and Danny Marcus, and he’s doing despicable things to these other girls. So what if there’s a little risk involved in taking him down?”

Kellan didn’t budge. If anything, his expression only grew more fierce. “You confronting him isn’t a little risk.”

“I know,” she said, because in truth, she did. The full report from their profiler had sent chills down her spine, and that was just based on the abstract. Knowing DuPree, the reality was likely worse. “I’m just frustrated. I want to catch this guy.”

“I know you do, and you will.” Kellan slid over the couch cushions to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Easier said than done,” Isabella grumbled.

“Tell you what. Let’s have some dinner and I’ll help you go over the case files. Maybe you’ll catch something new by talking out the details.”

She exhaled, but gave up a nod. “Okay, yeah. It can’t hurt.”

“Great. Just let me call Devon and Kylie to check in, and by then dinner should be done.”

Kellan kissed her one more time before standing up to unearth his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and head toward the kitchen. The strains of his conversation with Kylie floated into the living room, so easygoing and relaxed that Isabella had to smile. Maybe Kellan was right. Maybe they’d get their break by looking at all the facts again.

But God, she’d already done that a thousand times. Today.

Her cell phone vibrated from her back pocket, sending a ribbon of hope uncurling through her belly. Capelli had been sifting through DuPree’s business transactions when she’d left the precinct. Maybe he’d gotten a hit on something.

Unknown caller
.

The hairs on the back of Isabella’s neck stood on end as she stared at her cell phone. Trying—and failing—to steady her hands, she tapped the icon to take the call and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Moreno.”

“Hello, Detective. I hope you’re having a lovely evening so far.” DuPree’s melodic voice hit her with all the force of an anvil, and for a second, her answer wedged in her throat.

“Mr. DuPree,” she said, her thoughts going from zero to a million and sixty as she fast-tracked her way into her bedroom to grab a pen and a piece of paper. The phone company might be able to pull the call details later, but DuPree was slicker than snot. Who knew how long he’d stay on the line?

As if he could read her mind, he said, “I’ve been assured this line is secure. Try as you might, you won’t be able to trace this call.”

God
damn
that hacker! “What do you want?”

“To put it bluntly, I want you, Detective.”

Isabella’s palms went slick, but she channeled all her effort into calming her words despite the physiological response. “I’m at the Thirty-Third nearly every day, Mr. DuPree. You’re welcome to come in any time you’d like to chat.”

“You are tenacious, aren’t you?” His voice tightened, just slightly but it was enough. “I’ll admit to being rather disappointed to find out you’re a detective, Isabella.”

“Telling you last week would’ve spoiled the fun.” She trapped her tongue between her teeth, too late to pull back her emotions.
Come on, girl. Breathe deep
. “But we don’t have to let that stand in the way of us having a sit-down.”

“Full marks for effort, Detective. But I won’t be giving you the advantage of meeting you on your own ground. Come to my penthouse at the Metropolitan—alone, of course. Midnight tonight. I believe you remember the way.”

Isabella’s stomach clenched. “And what makes you think I’ll come to you?”

His answer was as immediate as it was matter-of-fact. “Because if you don’t, I’ll start purging my inventory. One girl every four hours. And trust me when I tell you, it
will
take that long for them to die.”

For a second, she couldn’t breathe. “You wouldn’t.”

DuPree’s laugh was sharp enough to cut glass. “I think we both know that I would.

I do hate to waste commodities, but there will always be more where they came from. And alas, there’s only one you, Detective Moreno. There will be a keycard for you in the lobby. If you tell anyone else about this meeting—and I
will
know if you do—I’ll start killing girls immediately. So do take care to be discreet.”

Her mind scrambled for a last-ditch ploy, anything to give her leverage. “You don’t really think I’m going to walk in there without backup, do you?”

“Seeing as how this is your only chance at getting anywhere near me, yes, I actually do. Oh, I nearly forgot. Do us both a favor and don’t arrive armed. That would be poor form. Am I clear?”

She had no choice but to say, “Perfectly.”

“Then we have a date.”

The line went dead, and dread filled Isabella’s chest like ice water.

But the sensation was nothing compared to what she felt when she turned around and saw Kellan standing in the doorway.

K
ellan scraped in a breath
, doing his best to hold on to the last ounce of his composure as the conversation he’d just overheard trickled all the way into his brain.

You don’t really think I’m going to walk in there without backup, do you?

Nope. Screw composure. He was about to lose his fucking mind.

“What the hell are you thinking?” he asked, closing the space between them in only a few strides. “You’re going to meet with DuPree?
Alone
?”

A look of panic stole across Isabella’s face. “I’m…that’s what he wants.”

“No.” Kellan fired off the word like a mortar. “Isabella, you have to call Sinclair.”

“No!” The force of her emotions brought her chin snapping upward. “I can’t.”

She had to be kidding. “He’s your boss. Why the hell not?”

“
Because
he’s my boss,” she said, and damn, she so wasn’t kidding.

“Start talking. Right now.”

Although the whiskey-warm flash in her eyes said Kellan was pushing the boundaries of her tolerance by getting chippy, she started to explain. “DuPree wants a meeting with just me, at his penthouse. No backup, no weapons. Just me and him.”

Jesus. This guy had stones the size of an aircraft carrier. “He really is insane if he thinks you’ll agree to that.”

Although Kellan didn’t think it was possible, Isabella’s expression grew even more grim. “He’s going to start torturing and killing the girls from the party if I don’t.”

His blood whooshed hard enough in his veins that his knees loosened. “What?”

“One every four hours, starting at midnight, if I don’t show or if I tell anyone. And believe me, he means it.”

“He’s fucking deranged.” Kellan bit each syllable to the quick. “He wants to hurt you, and he won’t stop at anything until he does. You need to call Sinclair. Or at the very least let me go with you.”

Isabella’s breath flew out in a frustrated huff. “I
can’t
. I have to protect these women. Don’t you see? I don’t have a choice here. If I don’t go completely alone, he’s going to start killing people. I
have
to do this his way.”

Fear exploded in Kellan’s chest, hell-hot and frigid at the same time. She couldn’t do this. She could not.

“But you don’t,” he said, all the emotion he knew he should hold back rushing to the forefront and directly out of his mouth. “You don’t have to catch DuPree all by yourself, and you don’t have to keep chasing ghosts. Putting yourself on the line like this isn’t going to bring Marisol back.”

She froze, just for an instant before her spine straightened into a rigid line, and fuck.
Fuck
. “What did you say?”

“Isabella, I didn’t mean—”

“Oh yes you did.” She stepped back on the floorboards to nail him with a glare. “Let me assure you, I know all too well that
nothing
will bring Marisol back. She’s dead. She was raped and murdered by a man just like DuPree. I know that. I live with that every single day, and I’m not going to sit around and let it happen to any more women just because I’m afraid of taking a risk!”

Realization sank into Kellan with razor-wire teeth. “You’re going to do this no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

Isabella hesitated, and for one thin second, hope ignited in his belly.

But then she shook her head, snuffing it out. “This is the only shot we will ever have at getting DuPree. This is his misstep, Kellan.
This
is what we’ve been waiting for, and I can’t let him kill any more women. I need to go and take him down, and I need to do it alone. If you can’t stand by that”—she sent her gaze over his shoulder—“then you should go.”

Kellan stood in front of her, completely shell-shocked, for only a second before his defenses locked his shoulders into place and the rest of his body shut. “Fine,” he said, slamming down on his emotions until he felt nothing but numb. “Have it your way. You’re on your own.”

He turned on his heel and left.

K
ellan got
all of ninety feet from the back exit of Isabella’s apartment building before he realized he’d left both his cell phone and the keys to his Camaro on her kitchen counter.

Fuck
.

He flipped his wrist, checking his watch with a frown. Okay, so it was barely twenty-hundred, which meant there were a solid four hours before Isabella was set to show up at DuPree’s penthouse. That would give Kellan plenty of time to get to a phone to call Sinclair.

Isabella would be furious, but at least she wouldn’t be dead.

Check that. She was already furious. If he told Sinclair about the phone call she’d gotten from DuPree and the plans she had to go with it, Isabella would never speak to him again.

You’re kind of already there, aren’t you buddy?

Kellan mashed back on the emotions brewing between his ribs. Kicking his feet into motion, he aimed himself toward the sidewalk and started to hoof it, eyes peeled for a payphone. One block turned into the next, which turned into a dozen more, and despite his effort, he couldn’t wipe the thought of Isabella from his head as he walked. The way she made at least five cups of tea in the morning, but only drank half of each one. The pure excitement that lit her face when she talked about things like the gun range and tactical weapons training. The way her body tightened and hummed just before she broke apart in climax.

The images rolled by on a continuous loop in Kellan’s head over and over, and damn it, screw it and fuck it all to hell, he couldn’t lock her away. He didn’t
want
to lock her away. So he didn’t.

He also didn’t hear the men behind him until one of them jabbed a needle into his neck, and the other threw a canvas bag over his head, turning his world pitch black.

I
sabella paced
over her living room floor so hard, she was shocked she didn’t carve a visible path in the hardwoods. Kellan had only been gone for an hour, but God, it felt like a thousand, and their argument welled up in her memory like a nasty cut. While she wasn’t shocked at his anger over her desire to confront DuPree, his mention of Marisol had smarted like a slap. Of
course
Isabella knew she couldn’t bring her cousin back—she’d tried just about everything to dull that pain. But now she could keep other women from being hurt, too. How could she refuse?

She owed it to them to do her job. And her job was to take down Julian DuPree. With or without Kellan’s blessing.

And despite the bone-deep ache in the center of her chest.

An electronic ringtone cut into Isabella’s awareness, sending her pulse through the roof. But her cell phone was right here, silent in her palm. So what the hell was ringing?

She walked into her kitchen, quickly realizing that Kellan’s cell phone lay sunny-side-up on her counter next to the now-cool casserole. The incoming call was labeled
Gamble
, and even though she hesitated for just a second, she scooped up the phone and put it to her ear.

“Hey, Gamble. It’s Isabella. I—”

“Is he with you?”

Fear laddered down her spine at the gruff urgency of the demand. “No. He left about an hour ago. Why?”

Gamble didn’t mince so much as a syllable. “Because he never checked in.”

Isabella’s chest constricted. “What? That’s impossible. Wait—” Her cell phone buzzed from the spot where she’d placed it on the counter when she’d traded it for Kellan’s. “Hang on, I’m getting a text. It might be…”

The rest of her words withered in her throat, her fear turning to sheer terror as she saw the image of Kellan, bleeding and blacked out and wearing the same shirt he’d left her apartment in an hour ago.

I have something you want. Midnight.

“Gamble,” Isabella said, her voice wooden in her ears. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

She dropped the phone with a clatter and ran to the safe in her bedroom.

K
ellan felt
like he’d been smashed into a thousand pieces and glued back together by a toddler. The antique grandfather clock in the penthouse foyer told him he’d only been lights out for about an hour before the fun had started thirty minutes ago. His neck was sore from the injection site of whatever that asshole—who’d turned out to be Rampage, he’d found out when he’d come to—had stuck him with to knock him out, and his temple throbbed like a motherfucker from where that other asshole—everyone’s least favorite pimp Franco—had pistol-whipped him with the Glock he’d shoved in his waistband. Kellan had left his SIG in Isabella’s apartment along with his keys and cell phone to complete the trifecta of stupid, so his only hope now was that Franco might get a touch more careless with that weapon and either shoot his own ass off or give Kellan a chance to take it.

That second one didn’t seem likely, seeing as his hands were zip tied in front of him and he’d taken enough of a beating after he’d regained consciousness to be seeing double and spitting blood.

Oh hell. Isabella was going to walk right into this. DuPree was going to do the same to her, and it would only get worse.

Kellan had to get out of these restraints and take that gun.

“Get up, pretty boy. The boss wants you.” Rampage grabbed him by the back of the neck and hauled him to his feet. Kellan forced his body to remain lax, allowing his head to loll deeply even though the move sent stars sparking across his field of vision. Better to let them think he was still off-kilter to keep their guards lower.

Rampage kicked at Kellan’s heels, shoving him from behind. He stumbled his way out of the penthouse’s main room—nineteen steps—down a back hallway—twelve steps—and into a wood-paneled room that looked as if it had been horked out by
Masterpiece Theater
. DuPree sat behind a huge mahogany desk, looking as smarmy as ever in a navy blue suit and a repulsive smile.

“Ah, Mr. Walker. So nice of you to join us.” He gestured to the spot in front of his desk, and Rampage gave Kellan an extra shove for his trouble.

“Sorry.” Kellan slurred on purpose, slipping one thumb around the zip tie at his wrists to test their thickness. Damn, this was going to take some doing. “I didn’t realize I had a choice.”

DuPree’s expression read
good point
. “Yes. Well, I have to say it was quite the happy coincidence that you left Detective Moreno’s apartment after she and I set up our engagement. The truth is, I’ve been waiting for the two of you to separate all week. Divide and conquer, you know. I thought the plan to use those cock-sucking whores to goad her here was rather clever, but you…” He wagged a finger, and Christ, Kellan was tempted to bite the digit clean off. “When I saw you walk out of her apartment building a few hours ago, you made things all too perfect.”

“You saw me?” Kellan blanked his expression to keep his emotions hidden, but DuPree’s were on full display, the pride practically pouring out of him.

“Don’t you know by now, I see everything? Accessing the security feeds for her building was all too easy, and now I have her where it hurts the most. She’s a dirty little slut, letting her brazen impulses lead her into my party, trying to outsmart me, to make me look weak. She needs to be punished.”

Kellan’s stomach pitched, his heart beating faster in his chest. This guy had gone around the bend. “So you’re going to punish her?”

DuPree smiled, pure evil in his soulless eyes. “And you’re going to watch.”

Kellan felt his lunge forward only after his body had decided to go. Pain detonated across his already-injured temple, stunning him into place, and the sticky warmth of fresh blood trickled over his jaw and into the neck of his T-shirt. Anger sizzled like a living, breathing thing under his skin, stealing his focus and snatching at his composure.

Breathe. In, two, three, four, five. Out, two, three. Breathe
.

Kellan buckled down, bracing to take the next blow. Only what came instead was a tense voice through the intercom speaker on the cherry-paneled wall by the door.

“Uh, boss. I hate to interrupt, but it looks like your girl is early.”

Kellan’s heart tripped against his sternum.
Isabella
.

Rampage paused, his hand still raised in an upswing, and DuPree’s expression turned to granite. “I’m sorry,” DuPree hissed. “How is that possible?”

“None of the feeds at her apartment show her leaving the place at all, but she just popped up in the lobby downstairs. She’s solo, and no phone calls went in or out on her cell, the firefighter’s cell, or her landline. I have no idea how she slipped the surveillance, but if she contacted anybody, it was either by smoke signals or fucking semaphore,” said Intercom Boy.

“Of course.” The muscles along DuPree’s clean-shaven jawline jumped, and yeah, Kellan thought as he covertly angled the locking mechanism of the zip tie between both wrists. He was running out of time.

“She’s trying to throw me off by changing the rules. Insolent bitch. Charles, watch him,” DuPree said, jerking his head toward Kellan. “Franco, go escort the detective in. It looks as if we’re starting this party early.”

I
sabella slid
her finger beneath the thin silver chain around her neck, focusing on her breathing even though her lungs were filled with far more adrenaline than air. But her plan was in place—was already in motion—and she was one hundred percent certain it would work.

She’d done the right thing. She had Kellan’s back.

Now she was going to
get
him back.

The thought steadied her hands along with her nerves as the elevator whispered up on a nonstop route to the penthouse, and she tacked on her poker face when the doors opened to reveal Franco, aka Scarface from the party.

Here we go
. “I’m here to see your boss.”

“You’re early,” Franco said with a sneer.

“He’ll see me anyway,” Isabella flipped back, and Franco’s face split into a crooked-toothed grin.

“He’s gonna love making you pay for that.” Franco proceeded to frisk her, his grabby hands lingering in all the places she’d expected them to before he led her past the front door.

“What, he’s not going to entertain me in the main living space?” she asked, the hard soles of her boots calling out each of her footsteps over the marble.

“No. All the good private shows go down in his study.” A minute later, Franco nudged her over the threshold of a darkly-paneled office space, and she got barely two steps in before fear funneled all the way through her.

“Kellan.”

The whisper slipped out, and she dug her nails into her palms in order to keep from running to him. He was upright, although barely, one eye swollen shut and the other on its way. A brutal gash, small but deep, sliced over his temple, and there was enough blood leading down his neck and into his gray T-shirt to tell her the wound wasn’t child’s play. She met his gaze for just a brief second, trying with all her power to stay calm.

And then she looked at DuPree, and so much for that.

“Detective Moreno. You are full of surprises,” he said, regarding her from behind his desk. “It’s eleven-oh-five. Did we not agree on midnight?”

“You said midnight,” Isabella corrected, working up a smile that would thoroughly piss him off. “I never agreed.”

“I make the rules,” DuPree spat, and yeah. Keep coming.

“If you say so.”

“You want me to zip-tie her, boss?” Franco asked, stepping forward, but much to the relief she refused to let show, DuPree shook his head.

“No.” At the thug’s obvious shock, he said, “I want Detective Moreno unrestrained. We’re going to play one of my favorite games.”

Isabella tensed, but said nothing as DuPree opened one of his desk drawers. “Since you’re so fond of boundary-testing, Detective, I thought a bit of chicken was in order.”

A fine sheen of sweat beaded on her forehead, turning instantly cold as he began laying knife after knife on the smooth mahogany desktop. “Blades, huh?” she asked, carefully edging her fingers from her sides to her hips. She needed to keep him angry. “I didn’t figure you for the messy type.”

“No?” he asked, the eight-inch fillet knife in his grasp glinting in the overhead light as he examined it.

She swallowed, moving her hands to the small of her back. “Nope. Frankly, I didn’t think you had the balls.”

Bingo
. DuPree slammed the knife to the desktop with a hard crack. “It’s time to shut that filthy mouth.” He rounded the desk, stepping in front of Kellan. “We’re going to find out how high your fuckmate’s pain tolerance is. You won’t scream,” he said, looking from Kellan to Isabella. “You won’t move a muscle. Because if you do, the cuts get deeper until he loses a limb.”

Adrenaline free-flowed in her veins, the tide changing the instant her fingers found purchase. “You’re not going to hurt him, jackass.”

Both Kellan and DuPree’s heads snapped up at the word. “And why is that?” DuPree sneered.

The answer came by way of a loud crash coming from the front of the penthouse, followed by the thunder of footsteps and shouts of “RPD!”, and Isabella’s muscles sang with relief.

“Because we’re not playing by your rules. We’re playing by mine, and I don’t work without backup.”

Everyone moved at once. Both Franco and Rampage scrambled for the exit, leaving their boss to fend for himself. Kellan’s arms shot upward, both elbows slamming down and out with enough force to snap the locking mechanism on his bindings. DuPree reached back for the knife on his desk, his face bent in a furious rage as he turned toward Isabella.

“Filthy whore!” he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth as he lunged not at her, but toward Kellan. “You’ll pay!”

She jammed the two-inch blade she’d had hidden behind her belt all the way into his neck.

Time elongated, each one of her heartbeats stretching out and showing her the scene as if she were watching a movie. She saw the startled look on DuPree’s face, quickly replaced by pain as his hands flew to his neck to try and stanch his free-flowing blood. She saw the door burst open, Sinclair and Hollister leading the way in with tactical gear on and guns drawn. She saw Kellan, eyes open, chest rising and falling, and oh God. Oh God, he was alive.