Chapter 13

“Afternoon, ma’am.” Detective Breacher smiled an oily grin.

“Detective Breacher. I wasn’t expecting you.” She wilted under his steely stare. What was he doing there? More importantly, where was Aiden?

Breacher’s smile widened as if he took pleasure in her confusion and discomfort. “You thought my partner, Detective Farrell, was coming to call. Am I right?”

She licked her dry lips, wincing at the sting of the small cut on her bottom lip. “He called a while ago and told me he wanted to update my statement from last night’s attack.”

A small bubble of pink gum appeared at the corner of his mouth. He flexed his thick lips and popped the bubble with a loud crack. “Loverboy’s busy right now, so you got me.” His eyes narrowed. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”

Loverboy? Who was he talking about? Her head throbbed, and she pushed the confusing name aside. “Yes, of course, it’s fine.” Her lie fell flat at his feet. The last thing she wanted was to talk to the cynical detective, especially when she felt so vulnerable. She chewed on her wounded bottom lip, ignoring the pain. The thought of rehashing the previous night’s attack made her tremble, but to relate the terrifying events to this unfeeling man almost drove her to her knees.

But she wanted the person who’d attacked her caught before he hurt someone else. If that meant giving her statement to the arrogant detective, she’d do it. Besides, he couldn’t discount her story this time. There were witnesses, and the hospital tests of her blood showed evidence of the drug her attacker had injected into her. She expelled a shaky breath and stepped aside. “Come in, Detective.”

He brushed past her, and without bothering to wipe his mud-spattered shoes on the doormat, strode into her living room as if he owned the place.

She closed the door and followed, girding her loins for the coming ordeal.

He shrugged out of his trench coat and dropped it onto the couch, scattering the remaining stack of exams. “Let’s get this done. I have a load of paperwork waiting for me back at the station.” He plopped onto a chair, wincing as if his knees hurt. Tugging out a small tape recorder, he set it on the coffee table in front of him. “Okay if I record this conversation?”

“I guess.” Her legs wobbled as she sank onto the couch. She stuffed her hands between her knees to hide their shaking.

A weighty silence descended. Out on the street, a dog barked, followed by the happy squeals of children playing. Her furnace kicked in with a quiet whump. The digital clock on the DVR machine clicked another minute, and then another, and another.

He drew out a small notebook and a stub of a pencil. Licking the tip of the pencil, he wrote in the notebook. Finally, he looked at her. A deep furrow grooved between his thick, gray eyebrows. His bulbous nose was pitted with tiny red dots, and his cheeks were ruddy as if he were a heavy drinker. A small square of blood-crusted tissue was stuck to his jaw where he’d cut himself shaving. He smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his cold eyes. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

He asked her stilted questions as if he were reading from a script in the police manual, showing no emotion on his fleshy face as she relayed what she recalled of the terrifying attack.

She answered as best she could, but her memory was spotty. Her stomach knotted, and her head ached as she struggled to recall the frightening events of the vicious attack. Other than vague impressions of her overriding fear and pain, she recollected very little. There was that niggling certainty she was forgetting something, but no matter how hard she tried to remember, the thought was as ephemeral as a wisp of smoke.

His voice remained flat and unemotional. His every gesture, every facial expression, made clear he thought the interview was a waste of his time, and he was just going through the motions because he had to.

Twenty long minutes later, he closed the notebook with a snap and stuffed it into his shirt pocket along with the pencil. Leaning over, he punched a button on the recorder to stop the recording and slipped the compact machine into his coat pocket. He rose to his feet, his knees cracking. “Well, I guess that’s that. Thanks for your time.”

“Wait, Detective.” She stood. “What’s going to happen? What are you doing to find the man who attacked me?”

He heaved a breath. “Look, Miss Cooper—”

She’d had enough of his blatant contempt. “It’s Doctor Cooper.” She instilled the stern, no-nonsense teacher voice she used on difficult students into the words, the one guaranteed to make him sit up and take notice.

Their eyes met, and she wanted to punch the air when he shifted his gaze away first.

He cleared his throat. “Dr. Cooper.”

He spoke her name like he was enunciating the name of a career felon, but she let his condescension go. One victory against this pompous ass was enough; besides, she was exhausted, and every inch of her body ached. She wanted him to leave so she could have a nap.

“You haven’t given us much to go on.” He shrugged. “You don’t know what the guy looked like, and you can’t remember if he said anything. If it weren’t for those frat boys, this whole story could be another one of your concoctions. Those boys were drunk. Who knows what they really saw?”

Her breath whooshed out. “What? Are you—” Her fury was so visceral she stumbled over the words. “—are you implying I made up the attack?”

“Of course not.” The corners of his mouth tightened. “All I’m saying is that no one saw the perp. Just you and three drunk kids—students of yours, I understand.”

Heat seared through her. She tightened her hands into fists to stop from clawing the smug expression off his florid face. “How do you explain the examine in my system? And the cut on my neck? To say nothing of the concussion I suffered. Do you actually think I orchestrated the attack? For what? Attention?” She blew out a breath. “Ask your partner. Detective Farrell was at the hospital last night. He talked to the doctors. He knows what happened.”

“Ah, yes, my partner.” He smirked and grabbed his coat from the back of the couch. “I’ll just bet he believes you.”

She blinked. Where was his attitude coming from? She understood that he didn’t care for her. They had a history, but his snarky tone made clear he didn’t respect Aiden.

“If I were you, Doctor, I’d be careful around Farrell. He has a soft spot for the ladies, especially pretty ones like you.” He buttoned up his coat and stepped closer and waggled his unruly eyebrows. “Why do you think a hotshot detective like him ended up in Briggston?”

She stumbled back from the blast of his sour coffee breath. “What are talking about?”

“You’re a smart woman. Check it out. The story was all over the Internet.” He turned and strode to the door. “I’ll let you know if we find the guy who attacked you, but don’t hold your breath.” He opened the door, stepped onto the porch, and closed the door with a decisive thud.

****

Aiden pulled into the driveway and frowned.

An unmarked police cruiser was parked at the curb.

The front door of the townhouse opened, and Joe stepped out.

Aiden yanked out the keys, unsnapped his seatbelt, thrust open the door, and jumped out. “What are you doing here, Joe?”

Joe grinned a shit-eating grin. “My job. Why? What are you doing here?”

“I thought we agreed we’d interview Dr. Cooper together.” Aiden shoved back the sleeve of his coat and studied his watch. “You said you’d meet me here at three. It’s three o’clock.” His eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing, Joe? What game are you playing?”

“I got here early and decided not to wait for you. It doesn’t take two of us to question a victim.” Joe dug in his pocket and held up a tape recorder. “Don’t worry. I interviewed the good professor, but she doesn’t remember anything useful. I got buttkiss.” His lip curled in a sneer. “No surprise there.”

“You took her statement?”

He tapped the recorder. “Got it all right here. What’s wrong? You don’t look happy.” His wide-eyed, fake-innocent gaze met Aiden’s. “I don’t get you, partner. I thought I’d save you time. I knew you were busy at the crime lab checking out the results on that syringe found at the crime scene. You should be happy I’m carrying your share of the load.”

Aiden’s gut curdled. Joe looked like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. Something was fishy, that was for damn sure. In the two months he’d worked with him, Aiden had learned that Joe would go to any length to avoid work. The guy made no secret of the fact he was putting in time, counting the hours and minutes until he retired next month. No way in hell would he go out of his way to interview a victim. Aiden stormed over, stopping inches from Joe. “What are you up to?”

Joe spread his hands wide. “Saving your ass, man.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” His fury was so hot he spit each word out between his clenched teeth.

Joe jerked his thumb at the small white townhouse behind him and arched his bushy eyebrows. “Think about it…a hot, young woman…and you…in her house…together…alone.” He snorted. “I mean, come on, Loverboy. Use the brain in your head and not the one in your pants for once.” He smirked. “Like I said, I saved your sorry ass, though I’m starting to doubt if it’s worth saving.”

Aiden ached to punch the smarmy bastard in his smug face. He jammed his clenched fists into the front pockets of his jeans and counted to ten. No way would he give the jerk the satisfaction of watching as Aiden got sacked by the captain for assaulting a fellow detective. He pasted a patently false smile on his face. “Why, thank you so much, Joe. I appreciate you looking out for little old me.” He stomped closer until his chest bumped against Joe’s. “I’ll remember this, partner. Believe me, I won’t forget.”

Joe’s face paled. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple riding up and down in his thick throat and made a show of checking his watch. “Well, will you look at that? I gotta run.” He scuttled to his cruiser and jumped inside. Before he closed the door, he looked back at Aiden. “Aren’t you coming?”

Aiden shook his head. “I have a few questions to ask Dr. Cooper.”

“I’ll just bet you do.” Joe slammed the car door, revved the motor, and with a screech of tires, pulled out into the street and roared down the road.

Aiden rubbed the back of his neck. Every muscle in his body was strung as tight as a guitar string. A white-hot rage blazed through his cells. Damn Joe. Damn the man to hell. Ever since Aiden had been assigned to the older detective, Joe had done his damnedest to show Aiden just how little he thought of his new partner and his detective skills.

The debacle in Seattle followed him like a bad smell he couldn’t shake. The best he could do was suck it up, put his nose to the grindstone, and hope his hard work would show Joe and the others like him in the department that he was good at his job. Damn good. And he deserved a second chance.

Joe’s patent disrespect, though annoying, didn’t surprise Aiden. The ignominious, and very public, dismissal from the Seattle Police Department and the sordid reasons behind the edict weren’t a secret. Any fool with a computer and access to the Internet could find all the lurid details posted online. If that didn’t work, there was the very effective cop-gossip train.

Aiden wasn’t proud of what he’d done. Hell, he’d crossed the line, then made a fatal mistake, one that resulted in the death of a child. He deserved his punishment.

And more.

He didn’t blame his commanding officer for firing him, or his fellow Seattle detectives for turning their backs on him. He’d taken his whacks, but he hadn’t expected that getting back on his feet and redeeming himself would be so damn difficult.

He understood Joe’s initial contempt, but he’d figured that after a few weeks, once Joe saw how hard Aiden worked and his dedication to the job, Joe’s antagonism would ease. He slapped his hand on his thigh. No such luck. Joe seemed to take it as his personal mission to undermine anything Aiden did.

Today was no different.

Aiden had called Candace and arranged the interview, and he and Joe had been all set to leave the precinct and go to her house to take her official statement when the call from the crime lab came in.

The crime-scene techs had discovered something interesting in the syringe found at the scene of the attack.

Aiden arranged to meet his partner at Candace’s house at three o’clock, and then he went to the crime lab.

His lip curled. He should've known. The second Aiden walked out of the police station, Joe had jumped in his car and raced to Candace’s house. The question that burned a trail of fire through his gut was…why? What did Joe hope to gain by jumping the gun? Was it solely a matter of wanting to get ahead of Aiden? Was he protecting Aiden like he said? Or was there more behind his actions?

He studied the townhouse with its neat garden beds, trimmed shrubs, and swept sidewalk. A gust of wind whipped down the street, raising tiny cyclones of dust in the air and scattering dried leaves left over from the previous fall. A fat raindrop plopped onto the sidewalk. Another landed on his coat sleeve. In the next heartbeat, the heavens opened up, and rain poured down in sheets.

He tightened the collar of his coat and raced for the front door.