Chickasaw County Captive. Пола Грейвс
shed her jacket to drive, a well-cut white blouse revealing soft curves her boxy business suit had hidden the night before. In the morning sunlight, her skin was as smooth and pale as fine porcelain and her sleek blond hair shimmered like gold. He was surprised by how attractive he found her, under the circumstances.
He distracted himself with a question. “You haven’t been a detective long, have you?”
Her expression grew defensive. “Six months.”
He nodded. “Big case for you, I guess.”
“Not my usual petty theft or meth lab,” she admitted.
“How about Foley? How long has he been a detective?”
Her gaze cut toward him. “Should we send you our résumés?”
“Would you?” he countered, more to see her reaction than any real doubt about their credentials.
She took a swift breath through her nose. He could almost hear her mentally counting to ten, he thought, stifling a grin. “Detective Foley has been an investigator for ten years. Five of those were with the Memphis Police Department Homicide Bureau. I’ve been an officer with the Gossamer Ridge Police Department since I turned twenty-one.”
He couldn’t hold back a smile. “That long, huh?”
She slanted him an exasperated look, her eyes spitting blue fire. “Anything new with your niece? Last time I checked, the hospital said there was no change.”
“That’s because there’s not been any change,” he said, his smile fading. “Better than a downturn, I suppose, but a little good news would be welcome.”
“Have they diagnosed the problem?”
“She has a skull fracture and some minor bleeding in her brain. Right now they think she’s got a good chance of full recovery, but I think that’s based on her age and relative health more than anything they’re seeing in the CAT scans.”
“Damn. We could really use her statement.”
He shot her a look.
Her neck reddened and her lips pressed into a tight line. “Sorry. I’m still working on my self-edit button.”
“You’re right,” he admitted. “We could use her statement.”
“I checked in with the lab before I left the station. They’re comparing all the fingerprints to eliminate the ones you’d expect to find, so it’s going to take time to see if there are any unidentified prints.” She turned onto the interstate on-ramp, heading south to Birmingham. “I know you said last night you didn’t think your ex could be a suspect—”
“She doesn’t have a motive,” he said bluntly. “She ended our marriage as much because she didn’t want to be a mother as because she didn’t want to be married to me. Maddy was an accident she couldn’t deal with.” He clamped his mouth shut before more bitter words escaped.
“Some women just aren’t mother material,” Kristen murmured.
“Some women don’t even try,” he shot back.
She was silent for a moment, a muscle in her jaw working. After a bit, she said, “Maybe when we get to Birmingham, we’ll have the answer to who’s behind the attack on your niece.”
“Maybe.” He doubted it, though. It wasn’t likely that the guy who broke into his house, nearly killed his niece and tried to kidnap his daughter would send Sam a package that could be traced back to him.
Within thirty minutes they pulled up to the police cordon blocking traffic in front of the Jefferson County District Attorney’s office. Sam directed Kristen to park in the deck across from the county courthouse, and they walked down the street to where the police had set up the barriers.
Sam spotted Tim Melton, the colleague he’d reached earlier. He crossed to Melton’s side. “Any news?”
“I just saw someone from the bomb squad come out and talk to Captain Rayburn,” Tim answered. He gave Kristen Tandy a curious look. “Tim Melton,” he introduced himself.
“Detective Tandy,” she answered.
“Oh. Right.” He looked back at Sam. “How’s your niece?”
“No change,” he answered tersely. “Detective Tandy’s investigating the case.”
“I guess that package might be connected?”
“Maybe. We’ll see.” Kristen stepped closer to the police tape. “Any way to get me in there?” she asked Sam.
He searched the crowd of policemen and firefighters on the other side of the cordon to see if he could catch the eye of one of the handful of officers he knew by name. A few seconds later, a sandy-haired detective named Cropwell spotted him and crossed to the tape to greet him.
“Nothing like fan mail, huh?” he said with a bleak grin.
“What’s the latest?”
“Perkins from the Bomb Squad said they’ve x-rayed it and don’t think it’s a bomb. They were about to open it last I heard.” Cropwell glanced over his shoulder. “Rayburn’ll probably be the first to know.”
Kristen Tandy flipped open a slim leather wallet, displaying her badge. Sam had a feeling that Cropwell wouldn’t exactly be impressed—Gossamer Ridge was small potatoes as Alabama towns went—but he had to admire her bravado.
“Kristen Tandy, Gossamer Ridge Police Department. We believe the package delivered to Mr. Cooper’s office may be connected to a home invasion case we’re investigating.”
As Sam had expected, Cropwell looked at Kristen’s badge with a mixture of amusement and disdain. “We’ll let you know if anything in the package is of concern to you, Detective.”
“Detective Tandy is investigating an attack on my niece, who was caring for my daughter at the time,” Sam said firmly. “If this is connected, I want her in on it.”
Kristen didn’t drop her gaze from Cropwell’s, but Sam saw her expression shift slightly, a slight curve of her pink lips in response to his defense.
Cropwell looked at Sam, instantly apologetic. “Yes, sir.”
“May I enter the scene?” Kristen asked, her voice tinted with long-suffering patience that made Cropwell flush.
“Yeah, fine.” He lifted the cordon and let Kristen come under. But when Sam started to follow, he blocked entrance. “Sorry, sir,” he said, his eyes glittering with payback, “but civilians aren’t allowed behind the tape. Not even you, sir.”
Sam nodded, acknowledging Cropwell’s small victory.
Kristen would have died rather than let it show, but mingling with the Birmingham police officers busy outside the Jefferson County District Attorney’s office was beginning to make her feel like the biggest rube that ever walked a city street. It wasn’t that they treated her badly; most of the other policemen on the scene were polite and helpful, answering her questions and helping her get caught up as quickly as possible. But she was clearly the youngest detective there, and she could tell from the wary gazes of some of the Birmingham detectives that she’d still be wearing a uniform and driving patrol if she weren’t on some hayseed rural police force.
She was waiting with the other detectives for word from the bomb squad when her cell phone rang. She excused herself, walked a few feet away and answered. “Tandy.”
“I hear you’re in Birmingham.” Her boss’s familiar voice rumbled over the phone, tinged with the same frustrated affection Carl usually showed when it came to her.
“Why do I feel like I just violated curfew?” she murmured.
“Got anything yet?”
“We’re waiting for word from the bomb squad. All