Skin Deep (25 page)

Capelli shook his head, his brows bent in concentration. “I pulled the records from the phone company, but the call was made from a payphone in the middle of downtown Remington.”

“They still have those?” Hale asked, and Isabella got the impression she was only half-joking.

Unfortunately, Capelli was all serious. “Only in the busiest parts of the city, and this one is about a block from Remington Hospital but just outside the reach of any city cams, so yeah, we don’t even have a snowball’s chance of figuring out who placed the call.”

“Great.” Isabella tugged a hand through her hair in frustration. DuPree was clearly meticulous. But there was no such thing as the perfect crime. There had to be
something
they could go by, some small slip-up that would turn into a big lead.

“There is something a little weird about this call, though.” Capelli sifted through the paperwork on his desk, coming up with the paper placemat where she’d recorded the grim details of her conversation in the diner. “Moreno, you’re sure you wrote down everything the guy said, word for word?”

“As much as I could remember, yeah.” Details grew hazy over time, even for the best of cops, and she’d broken too many cases wide open over verbal missteps criminals thought would be overlooked.

Capelli shook his head, his eyes narrowing behind the dark frames of his glasses while he read once, twice, then again for good measure. “This one line, right here where he said, ‘beyond the shadow of a doubt’. It’s so familiar. Almost like…” In one swift motion, he jerked back against his desk chair hard enough to make the thing squeal in protest. “Oh, shit. I know who DuPree’s security guy is.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, then backtracked with a shake of her head, because, hello. Capelli. “Who is it?”

“He’s a hacker, goes by the alias of the Shadow. His real name is Conrad Vaughn, although not a lot of people know that. Last I heard, he was in Tokyo, but honestly, the guy could be in this room and we probably wouldn’t know it. He’s crazy-smart and even more dangerous. Although no one’s proved it, he’s credited with crashing Twitter last month.”

“Are you kidding me?” Hollister asked, sitting up straight in shock. “The site was down for like eight hours.”

“Nine hours and twenty-two minutes, to be exact,” Capelli said. “He loves to talk in riddles, always about shadows and light. And if he’s behind DuPree’s security, you can bet the guy’s tracks aren’t just covered. They’re
gone
. The Shadow never leaves a trace.”

“There’s always a trace,” Sinclair said, cutting into Isabella’s dread with absolute certainty. “We just need to find it. Maxwell, I want you and Hale to dig deeper on Danny Marcus’s end—connections between him and DuPree, these parties, the wrestler, anything. Moreno and Hollister, go to North Point and see if someone on Oakmont can’t ID any of these guys at that house, Saturday morning or otherwise. Make it worth their while to have accurate memories. Capelli, figure out how this Shadow guy is getting his intel. I want to know what he knows, how he knows it—and let’s jam him up so he can’t get anything else while we’re at it. I want concrete evidence that DuPree’s behind these murders and I want it past tense. Let’s connect the dots, people.”

“Okay boss,” Isabella said, double-checking the Glock in her holster before asking, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take a field trip to the Metropolitan. Let’s see what our boy DuPree has to say for himself.”

K
ellan pushed
up from his couch, processing the intercom buzz that signaled a visitor with equal parts trepidation and relief. Isabella had called him twenty minutes ago to say she was finally on her way over from the precinct, and he hardly thought anyone wishing him harm would tip him off with a call in advance from downstairs, but still. A guy couldn’t be too careful.

As was evidenced by the hulking Marine who had beat Kellan to the intercom box in the foyer.

“Who is it?” Gamble grated into the speaker by the front door, and whoa, Kellan thought the guy was serious at the firehouse.

“Dude, I’m sure it’s just…”

The intercom crackled to life from four floors down. “It’s Moreno. Jackass,” she added, making Kellan laugh despite the seriousness of the situation.

Gamble raised one black brow, wordlessly pressing the button to release the security lock on the building’s main door. After a handful of minutes and a brisk knock at the door, Isabella was safely in his apartment, and Jesus, she was the only woman alive who looked even hotter after a day’s worth of work than she had when she’d left.

“Hey.” She shrugged out of her jacket, then the shoulder holster holding her SIG before lifting her hands as she smiled at Gamble. “Did you want to frisk me, too, or are we good?”

Kellan couldn’t help it. His laugh escaped for round two. Not that he wouldn’t be just as cautious if their roles were reversed and Gamble needed the backup, but the look on his lieutenant’s serious, stubbled face? Fucking priceless.

“We’re good,” Gamble said, shocking the crap out of Kellan when one corner of his mouth kicked up into the closest thing the guy had to a smile. “Just stay on your toes and keep it that way, Detective.”

Isabella nodded, her expression going from sassy to soft. “Copy that, Lieutenant. And thanks.”

Gamble skinned into his black leather jacket and palmed his motorcycle helmet from its resting spot in Kellan’s foyer. “We take care of our own.” He turned toward Kellan, lifting his chin as he made his exit. “I’ll see you at roll call tomorrow.”

“Fifty bucks says I’ll see you first,” Kellan said, clapping the guy on the shoulder as he ushered him out. Flipping the deadbolt firmly back into place, he retraced his steps back into the foyer, and Isabella met him halfway across the hardwoods.

“Now there’s a proper greeting,” she said, her fingers sliding with delicious friction against the back of his neck as he pulled her in close to press his mouth over hers.

He knew he shouldn’t mess with her, but, hell, it was too good to pass up. “I don’t know. Maybe I
should
frisk you, just in case.”

Isabella deepened the kiss, slanting her tongue over his in a dirty suggestion of what she could do with it before she broke their contact with a grin. “Go right ahead. But turnabout is fair play, and I’ve got handcuffs.”

Good Christ, this woman was going to ruin him before they made it to the living room.

Despite the protest from his dick, Kellan pulled back to lead her into the kitchen. As badly as he wanted to get naked with her (damn, he really,
really
wanted to get naked with her), he also knew Isabella had likely had a hell of a day. Even though she didn’t say so out loud, the vulnerability hiding behind that layer of toughness in her eyes told him in no uncertain terms that she still felt responsible for Angel’s death. Making sure Isabella was okay was his number one priority right now.

“You hungry? I’ve got a lasagna in the oven,” Kellan said, biting back a laugh as her eyes went wide over a hell-yes smile.

“Damn. You made a freaking lasagna? You’ve been holding out on me in the skills department.” She inhaled, the rise of her breasts beneath the V-neck of her dark red top making Kellan second-guess his decision not to strip it off of her.

Focus
. “Actually, I can’t take any credit. Kylie made the lasagna. All I did was put it in the oven. Oh, and before I forget”—he broke off just long enough to grab the bags his sister had given him, passing them to Isabella—“she picked up a few things to tide you over until you can get back into your place. She had to guess at the sizes, but she’s pretty good at that sort of thing.”

Isabella blinked twice before staring down at the bags in surprise. “That was really nice of her. CSU is still processing my apartment because there was so much damage to sift through, and to be honest, I had one hell of a long day with this case. I kind of forgot I’d need a few things.”

“She thought you might say that.”

“I’ll have to pay her back next time I see her.”

Kellan laughed. Isabella was nothing if not true to form. “Kylie thought you might say that too. She told me to tell you, and I quote, ‘After all you did to find that asshole Burton, don’t even think about paying me back for these.’”

Pressing a smile between her lips, Isabella set the bags in an out-of-the-way spot and moved back through the kitchen. “Your sister’s kind of a badass,” she said, pointing toward the cabinets with her brows up in wordless question. At his nod, she unearthed two plates, repeating the process with the drawer below to add silverware. “Kylie’s safe, right?”

“Are you kidding?” They might have a truckload of shit to worry about with DuPree still on the loose, but thankfully, his sister’s safety was a no-brainer. “Like you said, she’s kind of a badass. Anyway, Devon’s even more protective of her than I am, and that’s saying something.”

“Good.” Her brown eyes turned serious in the soft overhead light of his kitchen as she kicked into work mode. “DuPree’s been quiet since he shook things up at my apartment, but after today, I’m sure he won’t stay that way.”

Isabella proceeded to fill him in on the case details as he dished up two double-portions of lasagna and led her to the tiny table in his breakfast nook. His shock that Angel’s death had been ruled a homicide turned into anger at the lack of evidence to connect it to DuPree, and damn, between the confirmation that they were up against some top-notch security with this Shadow hacker and the fact that DuPree clearly knew how to outsmart everyone in his path, the intelligence unit definitely had their work cut out for them.

“So Sinclair didn’t get anywhere with this bastard at all?” Kellan asked, stacking his empty plate on top of Isabella’s and bringing both to the kitchen sink a few steps away.

Isabella shook her head, following him to the counter. “Sinclair didn’t even get in the door,” she corrected. “He got dead silence at the Metropolitan, and when he tried DuPree’s office, the receptionist kept telling him the bastard was ‘unavailable.’ We can’t even be sure he was in either place.”

“Damn. How about a search warrant for the penthouse?” Not even DuPree would be able to snake around that.

“Unfortunately, the State’s Attorney can’t use anything we turned up at that party to get search warrants for DuPree’s penthouse or surveillance equipment,” Isabella said with a frown. “The conversations you and I had with both Danny and Angel can’t be corroborated, plus we didn’t have a warrant to be in the penthouse to begin with. If a judge finds out we went to that party before an active investigation was opened on top of that…”

Fuck
. “You’ll get laughed right out of the courthouse.”

“Exactly.”

Kellan blew out a slow breath. “And you didn’t get anywhere with the canvas out in North Point?”

Isabella shook her head, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. “Hollister and I knocked on every door in that damned neighborhood today. Not one person can put DuPree or anyone on his payroll at the scene of Angel’s murder, and Hale and Maxwell came up empty on Danny Marcus’s end too. There’s no trace of this guy anywhere near these crimes. DuPree might as well be a ghost.”

Finishing with the dishes, Kellan led her to the living room, parking himself next to her on the couch and saying the only thing he could think of. “I’m sorry.”

To his surprise, she simply nodded. “Thanks. It’s not all a loss, though. Just because we can’t use what you and I saw at the party to indict doesn’t mean the intel doesn’t help the investigation. We know DuPree is forcing these women into prostitution, and we know how he operates. We just have to keep digging to find a way to prove what we know. And once we do that…

“You’ll have enough to tie him to the parties
and
the murders,” Kellan finished. He sat back against the couch cushions, looking at Isabella in the last of the evening light filtering in through the picture windows. She met his stare, holding on to it for just a minute before smiling and shocking the hell out of him.

“So tell me something about you.”

His brows shot upward, and God, would she ever stop being both the opposite of what he expected and exactly what he wanted all at once? “You want to know something about me?”

She stilled. “Yes. No. I mean”—she paused, but the glimmer turning her eyes the color of whiskey over ice told him she wasn’t backing down, regardless of the flush climbing over her cheeks—“Believe me, I want to break this case. But I’ve been thinking about it nonstop for nearly two weeks straight, and I’ll be thinking about it first thing tomorrow morning, too. I just need…something else right now. So yeah. Tell me something about you.”

For a second, Kellan paused. He knew he should pop off with something like his favorite baseball team or where he’d spend his next vacation if money were no object. Those were the easy things, the things they’d stuck to before now, and she’d had a hell of a long day. But something about the way she was looking at him, the warmth of her closeness and the at-odds combination of strength and need buried deep in her stare, made the truth launch past his lips.

“When I was deployed, I saw a lot of things that make it hard to sleep at night.”

Isabella’s brows lifted. “I’m sure you did,” she said slowly. “Two tours in the Middle East couldn’t have been easy.”

“No,” Kellan agreed. “I learned pretty quickly how to stuff everything down.” It had been as basic a survival skill as keeping your head on a swivel and having your M9 ready on the fly.

“So why did you choose such a high-pressure job when you got out of the Army?” Isabella asked. “That can’t be easy, either.”

“Because it’s not like I could’ve become an accountant,” Kellan said. “No disrespect to number-crunchers—they’re smart as hell in ways I’m not. But that’s just it. I’m
not
like that.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” she said, a frown shaping her pretty mouth. But God, even though he knew he shouldn’t, Kellan wanted to explain it to her.

As dangerous as it was to show her the boxes where he kept every last thing that could make him vulnerable or weak, he couldn’t deny the simple fact that he wanted to let her in.

“My dad died when I was twenty-one, after being sick for over a year.”

Isabella stilled, but only for a breath before shifting on the couch cushions to brush her hand over his forearm. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Kellan waited for the loss to sink hooks into his chest and paralyze him like it had in those early months before he’d learned to pack it away, but funny, it didn’t.

So he kept talking. “It was just him and me and Kylie, so we were close. He worked a lot, trying to support us on his own. When he was diagnosed with lung cancer, I did my best to take care of him and Kylie, but he got really sick, really fast, and…”

“You were twenty-one,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened on his forearm, and fuck, the warmth felt so much better than it should.

He swallowed past the dryness in his throat. “After he died, I didn’t really know how to handle all the emotions that went with losing him, you know? I was pissed and hurt and about a thousand other things that messed with my head. Kylie and I were close, but she needed stability I couldn’t give her. She had a friend whose parents agreed to let her live with them for two years until she turned eighteen. I needed something to get me right side up.”

Isabella paused, her expression letting him know she’d connected the dots a second later. “So you enlisted.”

“Yeah. At first I hated the Army.” Okay, so it was an understatement. He’d survived basic training by equal amounts pure luck and sheer, screw-you grit. “I haven’t always been so great at being told what to do.”

“I can empathize,” she said on a soft puff of laughter. “Let’s just say my first few weeks at the police academy were a bit of a challenge.”

At that, Kellan had to laugh too. “Eventually, though, I learned how to push back on everything inside my head. I packed down my feelings and focused on what was in front of me. My training showed me what I was good at, and it wasn’t long before I knew I wanted to be a Ranger.” Now his laughter disappeared. “But there were parts of being a Ranger that came with a price.”

“You had an aptitude for sniper skills.”

Ah. Of course Isabella would know you don’t choose becoming a sniper; it chooses you. Or more specifically, the Army chooses you for the job based on a whole battery of skills and training, and hell if Kellan hadn’t had the perfect cocktail on his resume.

“I did,” he said. “Which means I saw a lot of things no one should have to see.” Those were the things he’d kept locked up the tightest. The boxes he feared the most. “Have you ever killed anyone in the line of duty, Isabella?”

A pop of surprise flashed in her eyes, there then gone before she shook her head. “I’ve fired my weapon a bunch of times on the job. Three hits, all clean. But none of those people died, no.”

“You’d think it’d be cut and dried, you know. And in a way, it is. You’re trained to assess threats. To protect and defend. To act.” Even now, he couldn’t so much as hit the head in the Crooked Angel without scanning the bar three times for potential danger. “So that’s what you do. You calculate. You eliminate threats. You pull the trigger to keep yourself alive.”

“If someone’s posing a clear and present danger, defending yourself in order to survive is necessary, Kellan.”

But the smile that pulled at his lips in response held no joy. “It’s not the actions that fuck with you. It’s what comes after.”

Kellan thought the words would feel sharper or more rusty upon exit—he’d never spoken them to a soul.But they flowed into the warm, softly lit space between him and Isabella with ease, so he opened his mouth and came out with the rest.