Tactical Advantage (4 page)

She shrugged off Nick’s coat and linked her arm through Jordan’s to snuggle up to him. She rolled her eyes up to the stern father and curious family members silhouetted at the front windows. “Like he’d be welcome here?”

“Have Mom and Dad even met him?” The bite of winter wind pierced the double layers of sweater and long-sleeved tee Nick wore, but he kept his jacket in his hand to warm up his sister the moment she’d let him. If she came to her senses anytime soon. “So, what? You were going to take off with this guy after midnight and go to his place?”

“There aren’t so many rules at my pad,” Garza bragged.

“Are there any parents? Any guardian in charge?”

“
I’m
the man of the house.” Jordan thumped his chest and unzipped his coat. Recognizing the movements that could signal a call for backup from other gang members, Nick dropped his jacket to rest his hand on his Glock and visually sweep the street for any signs of movement. “Easy, Officer.” Jordan’s hands were heading for the deep pockets of his jeans now. “I ain’t got no big brother buttin’ into my business.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them, Garza.” Nick altered his stance to face the potential threat head-on. He wrapped his fingers around Nell’s arm and pulled her away from the gangbanger. “I think you’d be smart to go home now.”

“Nicky—” She tugged against his grip.

“You threatening me, brother?”

“Hands, Garza.” Nick tightened his grip on his sister and pulled her behind him. “Get in your car and drive away.”

Jordan pulled his hands from his pockets and held them up in surrender despite his defiant tone. “I’ll see her at school.”

“Yeah, well, you won’t see her here. Not tonight. It’s too late for her to be out. Besides, this is family time.”

“
You’re
leaving,” Nell argued.

“I’m working,” Nick clarified.

Her shoulder sagged with a dramatic sigh. “This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s cool, babe. Relax. They ain’t comin’ between us.” Jordan reached out and Nick jerked Nell beyond his reach.

“Nicky, please.”

Relenting for one moment at the soft-voiced plea, Nick let her step forward. His eyes followed every movement as the younger man stroked a finger across Nell’s cheek.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Jordan promised.

But Nick drew the line at letting his baby sister run into her boyfriend’s arms. “Good night, Garza.”

“Later, brother.”

Nick pulled his sister back from the curb as Jordan climbed in behind the wheel and revved the engine loud enough to wake any neighbors who might have turned in early. Only when the Impala was a block away and he was sure there were no other allies in cars watching after Garza or the house did Nick release his sister.

Nell wheeled around to face him, shivering with a mix of cold and anger. “That was rude.”

“You’re talking about him, right?”

“Are you done humiliating me now?”

“The kid’s got gang tats, Nell.” He scooped up his jacket off the ground and brushed away the clinging snow. This time she did let him drape it around her shoulders. “And you’re dating him?”

“Jordan’s gang life was years ago, when he was in middle school. He’s not like that anymore.”

“He’s still dressing and driving the part.” He rubbed his hands up and down the sleeves of his sweater, needing to find some warmth for himself.

“You know, you don’t live here anymore.” The blue eyes that matched his own tilted up with a soft expression that had always wrapped him around her little finger. Her voice softened, too. “You don’t even know Jordan.”

“And why is that?” He pulled the jacket collar together at her neck and switched the massaging warmth to her shoulders. “I can’t give him a chance if you don’t bring him around. Is there some reason you don’t want him to meet me?”

“Daddy’s already freaking out about him. I don’t need you breathing down my neck, too.” Her crooked smile reminded him of when she’d been a little girl and big brother could do no wrong. “I’m seventeen now. I don’t need every moment of my life chaperoned anymore.”

“How old is Jordan?”

She let go with a noisy sigh. “Why should I answer? You’re just gonna go look him up on your crime-fighting computer when you get to work. That isn’t fair.”

“Is he eighteen? If he’s of age and you two are...” Oh, man, he couldn’t think of his baby sister being with a guy yet. “If you two are serious, then he could be in some legal trouble.”

“I never asked his age.”

“Please tell me he at least
goes
to your school and doesn’t just show up afterward to pick you up.”

The attitude was returning. “He’s a senior.”

“Look, I don’t mean to be hard-nosed about this, but he’s not making a good first impression.”

“How could he? You practically pulled your gun on him.”

“He looked like he might have been armed.” Nick stepped closer. He could do the attitude thing, too. “In my job, you don’t get second chances if you let the bad guy get the drop on you. If he’s still tied to a gang, Mom and Dad are right to be concerned about this guy becoming a part of your life. I’m trying to protect you.”

She groaned on three different pitches before swinging off his jacket and shoving it into his chest. “I don’t know if it’s worse for you to be a cop or my big brother.” Nell stormed up the stairs onto the porch. “Jordan’s a good guy. I love him. But don’t worry, I’m not sleeping with him.” Thank God for small favors. “Yet.”

Nick swore. “Nellie Fensom!”

But she waltzed away into the house—beyond his words, beyond his reach, beyond his understanding. Nick’s heavy breath clouded the cold air around him. When it cleared, he exchanged a look with his father. He hated leaving with his sister mad at him and his father looking as helpless as he felt about keeping the headstrong teenager safe. Nick wanted to restore the harmony of the evening they’d all shared earlier.

But he had to leave. Spencer was counting on him to be his eyes and ears at the scene of another rape and murder. He wasn’t about to let his partner down. He wasn’t about to let the victim’s loved ones go without answers.

But he wasn’t used to leaving his family when they needed him, either.

Nick pulled on his jacket and zipped it against the cold as he headed for his Jeep. “One problem at a time,” he silently promised everyone who needed him tonight. “One problem at a time.”

Chapter Two

“What’s your problem, Hermann?” Nick Fensom’s deep-pitched voice teased her from above. “I’ve already canvassed apartments on both sides of the street, and you’re still in the same spot where I left you.”

Annie glanced up from the alley where she was working and glared at the stocky, dark-haired detective casting a shadow over her open evidence kit and work space. The tarp tenting over their heads from one wall of the alley to the other snapped with the wind and strained against the ropes she’d tied off like full sails on a seagoing schooner. She was knee-deep in trash bags, blood spatter and blowing snow—her cold fingers shaking as she struggled to open a paper evidence bag so she could drop the beaded evening purse she’d found beneath the nearby Dumpster inside. She pulled the flashlight she held between her teeth out of her mouth to answer.

“Well, let’s see, Detective Smart Mouth. It’s cold. It’s windy. It’s snowing. Can you piece together the clues and figure out why this is taking so long?” She could do sarcasm, too. “You got the easy gig, spending a couple of hours inside where it’s warm and dry.”

“And crashing parties or waking up surly, annoyed building supers and frightened tenants.”

Annie scoffed at his trials and tribulations. “It’s not my fault if you showing up ruins a party and scares little old ladies.”

He deflected the zinger with a smug grin. “Actually, I was invited to join a couple of New Year’s celebrations. I was also asked to arrest the noisy neighbors on the floor above one apartment. And there was a nice Mrs. O’Halloran who invited me in for champagne and cookies if I was interested. I had to tell her I was still on the clock and, regrettably, turned her down.”

Point to Fensom. Annie bristled. Her only invitation tonight had come from the lecherous drunk neighbor across the hall. “No one’s stopping you from leaving. I bet Mrs. O’Halloran’s cookies are still toasty warm if you want to go sample them.”

“She was older than my grandmother, Hermann. You know, anybody overhearing our conversation might think you don’t like me.”

“There’s no one listening in, so I don’t have to pretend to make nice.”

Point to Hermann. The teasing grin vanished, and for a split second, Annie was tempted to apologize. But a man with that much self-confidence couldn’t really be offended by the quips they routinely traded each time they were forced to work together, could he? Rather than explore the possibility that there might be a sensitive human being beneath that cocky charm, Annie opted to change the topic.

The idea that she and Nick Fensom truly were alone in the middle of this wintry night in a place where a dead body had lain only hours earlier sent a little shiver of unease down her spine. It merged with the chill that vibrated her grip, and she swung her light toward the yellow crime scene tape at the end of the alley. “Where did the two uniformed guys go?”

“Relax, Hermann, I’ve got your back for a few minutes.” He tilted his head toward the cross street at the end of the block. “The Shamrock Bar is just around the corner. They started serving free coffee and snacks after 1:00 a.m. in case anyone’s been partying too hard tonight. I sent the officers to get four coffees and give them some time out of the cold.”

She’d like to dive into a bath-sized pot of hot coffee right about now. Including her in the drink run was an unexpected consideration that took the edge off the defensive hackles Nick’s presence inevitably raised in her. “I suppose they’ve been out here longer than either one of us. They’ve earned the break.”

Still, sterile plastic gloves were no match for hours of working in the wintry night, photographing potential evidence, digging through bags of garbage and cataloguing everything she’d found thus far. The bag she’d been fighting with refused to open for her stiff fingers. The knees of her jeans where she kneeled had soaked through to the skin, and the tendrils of hair sticking out from beneath her stocking cap had kinked around her face and stuck to her cheeks with the precipitation in the air.

Meanwhile, other than the puffs of warm breath that clouded the air around his head, Detective Fensom looked solid and warm and vexingly unaffected by the dropping temperature.

As if reading her condemning thoughts, Nick turned the banter back to the job. The beam of his flashlight joined hers to better illuminate her work. “What do you have there?”

“I found the victim’s purse.” Giving up on the paper sack for now, Annie lifted the camera hanging from her neck and snapped a picture of the beaded evening bag wedged between the rear wheel of the Dumpster and the alley’s brick wall. Then she picked up the bag and opened it. “Clearly, this wasn’t a robbery.” She pulled out three neatly folded twenties and a credit card. A driver’s license, five business cards, a comb and lipstick rounded out the contents. Annie read the name on the license and business cards. “Rachel Dunbar. Twenty-seven years old. She was an investment analyst.”

“A successful professional woman. That fits the victim profile of the women the Rose Red Rapist targets.”

Annie returned the contents to the purse and picked up the evidence bag again. Juggling the purse, the bag and her flashlight with her frozen hands proved to be a challenge, but it didn’t stop her mind from speculating. “Why is there no phone here? I wonder if she had a cell phone in her coat or if the killer took it from her. I can’t imagine a woman going out at night on her own without a cell.”

“When I check in with Spencer, I can ask if the phone was on the body. I’m guessing her attacker took it from her, though,” Nick speculated. “It keeps her helpless, at his mercy. Our unsub is all about control and dominance over the women he assaults. He obviously can’t have her calling 9-1-1.”

Frowning, Annie nodded toward the bag already tucked into her evidence kit. “So he takes the phone, but leaves the brick he killed her with? I always thought our guy was smarter than that. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Let’s gather the evidence first and analyze it later.” Nick knelt beside her, the bulk of his shoulders and chest blocking the wind as he plucked the sack from her fingers and opened it for her. Annie’s fingers were still shaking as she jotted down the time and date and signed the sealed bag. He dropped the sack inside her kit and reached for her hands. “I need to get you out of the cold, too. How much more do you have to do?”

Annie’s mouth opened in surprise as he tucked her flashlight into the CSI vest she wore over her coat, and pulled off his leather gloves to capture her fingers between his palms. “What are you doing?”

He peeled off her latex gloves next. “What does it look like?”

Gasping at his firm, yet light, touch, Annie was stunned into silence. Nick Fensom had never touched her before, other than an accidental brush of contact as they passed each other in a crowded room or handed off a file folder at a meeting. And now he was holding her hands and instilling warmth as if he had some proprietary claim to do so.

The gentle massage of Nick’s bigger fingers over hers was almost painful as the blood began to warm her heat-deprived extremities. A little hiss of pain brought his gaze up to hers. “Easy, slugger. You’re okay.”

“Slugger?” A baseball reference?

He glanced up at the blue-and-white
KC
on the cuff of her stocking cap. “Looks like you’re a Royals fan.”

“I am.”

“Me, too. Who’d have thought you and I had something in common?”

“Yeah.” Witty comeback. But her thoughts were shifting from shock into the critical observations that usually filled her mind.

Sensation returned to her hands and Annie began to feel every supple movement of his fingertips, every callus that marked his broad palm. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, from his skin into hers.

Nick Fensom was being nice? On purpose? Where were the wisecracks that forced her to stay on her mental toes? The annoying arguments that threatened to undermine her investigative expertise? The heat he rubbed into her once-numb hands was blossoming elsewhere inside her, too. Her cheeks began to thaw with the traitorous flush of her physical response.

Up close like this, Annie noticed just how blue Nick’s eyes were. Their dark cobalt color was emphasized by the shadows between them, yet there was a sparkle of energy there, a light that gave them a sharp contrast to the coffee-brown darkness of his hair. And maybe it was just the close proximity she wasn’t accustomed to—or the thickness of his insulated leather jacket—that distorted the dimensions of his body. She knew he hadn’t grown any taller, and yet his shoulders and chest were broader than she remembered. They were wide enough to block the worst of the wind and snow and allow the air between them to warm and fill with the scents of the sterile solutions she used, along with the leather and faint garlicky deliciousness emanating from him.

“You’re like a furnace,” she noted, drawing her focus back to the reviving heat of his fingers around hers. Was he feeling this unexpected jolt of awareness, too? “Why are you doing this?”

“Speeding the process so I can get out of here before dawn. Your hands are like ice.”

“Oh.” So she’d been analyzing the color of his eyes and wondering if the dark stubble dusting the angles of his face would be sandpapery or soft to the touch while he’d simply wanted to get out of here sooner.
Awkward.
He probably had a hot date he’d left in a snug apartment somewhere, and Annie’s poky thoroughness was keeping him from getting back to her. With plenty of embarrassment to infuse her blood and keep her warm now, Annie jerked her hands from his and grabbed a fresh pair of gloves from her kit. “I’m fine. You can stop.”

“I don’t mind.” She flexed her fingers and reached up to extricate her flashlight from the net pocket in her CSI vest where Nick had stuck it. But her hands were chilling again and he’d jammed it in there good and why the heck couldn’t she manage her own equipment? Nick plucked the flashlight from her vest and pressed it into her palm. “Here. We’re part of a team, right? We have to help each other out.”

“Right.”
Go ahead and be practical and coordinated and temptingly warm,
she accused him silently, pushing to her feet and feeling about as graceful and misguided as a teenage girl who’d just had a run-in with her high school crush. She must be suffering from hypothermia to have hallucinated any sort of fascination with Nick Fensom. “I’m almost done. The path of blood droplets I was following has tapered off considerably.”

“O...kay.” He drawled out the word, clearly questioning her abrupt retreat. Nick pulled on his black leather gloves and straightened beside her. “By the way, you’re welcome.”

Annie lifted her gaze from the void of snow on the bricks behind the Dumpster. “Sorry.” Rubbing her hands truly had been a nice gesture, which was certainly more observant of her discomfort and more considerate than she’d given the burly detective credit for being. “You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it. I’ll do my best to get done
before
daylight, so we can both get someplace warm.”

And so she could find some time to herself to remember that Nick was just a cop she worked with, a streetwise pain in the posterior she frequently butted heads with—not the man who had suddenly blipped onto her sexual-awareness radar with his big shoulders and blue eyes and surprising consideration.

“Sounds like a temporary truce to me.”

Annie nodded her agreement, savoring the cold slap of wind on her face that brought her thoughts back into focus. She bent closer to the bricks as the bare spot took shape. It was a handprint, dotted with a few weeping trickles of blood. There was another handprint, another smear of red, climbing up the wall to where the falling snow clung to the bricks above the Dumpster and covered up the rest of the pattern. “This has been moved. Our vic got to her feet and pulled herself up along the wall here. And...something else.”

Nick waited for Annie’s nod before putting his shoulder to the Dumpster and shoving it aside a couple of feet. Then the beam from his flashlight joined hers. “That second handprint’s bigger. Looks like a scuffle to me. Two people fell against the wall—caught themselves. But this can’t be where she was killed. There isn’t enough blood.”

“That blood pool is farther back in the alley. She had her head bashed in back by where the alleys cross, beyond any line of sight from the street—with the brick I bagged up in my kit, I’m guessing. These are something different.” With her sterile gloves still in place, she tested one crimson spot with her fingertip. “The drops here aren’t as tacky. They’ve been here longer. This may be the initial attack site.”

“Where he first abducted her and hauled her away to a secondary location to rape her.” Nick’s shoulder nudged hers as he came in for a closer look. “Maybe this one got a look at her attacker, and they struggled. Could that be our perp’s handprint?”

Nudging him back out of her way, Annie focused the camera hanging around her neck and snapped a photograph. “I doubt we’ll get any fingerprints from our unsub—the lines are blurred enough that I’m sure both were wearing gloves. Wait a minute.”

“Did you see something?”

Before Nick could finish his question, Annie grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand in front of the prints on the wall. “Hold that right there.”

Before he could voice another question, she’d snapped another picture.

“Now take your glove off and hold it up there.”

She didn’t miss the dubious arching of his brow, but Nick did as she asked. “And my hand is photogenic because?”

“It’s a comparison shot.” Next, she photographed her own hand in front of the bloody prints on the wall before stooping down to pull a tape measure from her kit. “The smaller prints are about the size of my hand, so I’m guessing they belong to the victim. We can verify that once I talk with the medical examiner. But the other print is considerably larger.”

“Man-size hands.” Nick regloved and stepped to the side, clearing out of her work space. “The rapist’s?”

“Possibly.” She recorded the exact measurements in her notebook and stuffed it back into her coat pocket. “It’s something we can compare if we find handprints at other locations, or we bring a suspect into custody.”