Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) (7 page)

She had bigger things to worry about than narrow minds or failed grades. “Thanks for your help, Professor.”

“I keep telling you, call me Roman.”

The familiarity felt wrong, like calling the family priest by his first name. “Right. Well, if you think of anything else, feel free to give me a call.”

“It would help if I could review the case notes…”

Erin checked her rear view mirror. “I’ll talk to the FBI to see if we can consult with you on this one.”

“The FBI is involved? Already?” The professor sounded intrigued.

“Yeah.”

“That’s what happens when you have lots of wealthy parents and murdered co-eds.”

And an elite college whose enrollment was going to suffer as a consequence. She understood the stakes could be measured in dollars and lives—only the lives concerned her right now.

“I’ll get back to you.” Erin said goodbye and hung up.

She turned into the police station, Agent Singh following closely in his black rental SUV. She had a feeling he was going to be her own personal shadow until the powers that be decided whether or not to make her the sacrificial goat. Erin growled with frustration as she pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. She got out and leaned against the warm hood of her truck as she waited for the fed to join her. He walked toward her, all muscled grace and professional cool. Her mouth went dry.

Get a grip, Erin. He thinks you’re a cheating slut and is probably gonna get you fired.

He caught her gaze and raised a brow in question. She tried to keep her expression blank. The guy was gorgeous and looked more like an actor playing a role than a law enforcement officer with powers of arrest, but she didn’t let it fool her. People often dismissed her because she was young and blonde. It made getting the cuffs around those thick wrists that much more satisfying.

She led the way, grateful there were no reporters yet. They’d arrive soon enough like a plague of flies.

“It’s a long drive from Virginia,” she noted, walking up the stairs toward the red brick building.

“Flew in from Boston.”

“Murder case?”

He glanced at her sideways. “Suspected white slave ring.”

“You shut it down?”

“It’s ongoing.” He carefully avoided her gaze.

So he’d been pulled off that case to come here. Damn. Her mood soured further as she held open the door for him. “Well, we sure do appreciate you dropping everything and rushing here to help.” She didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

His glance flicked over her again as he held the inner door for her this time. She’d made her point. Bottom line was she was stuck with the guy for a few days, and she was going to make good use of him. The Bureau had access to resources that their small PD could only dream of. And if this BAU profiler could help catch their killer, she’d put up with all the associated politics and bullshit from the rest of her department and city hall. She’d even put up with all the snide inferences from Agent Singh regarding her loose morals—as if she’d been the only one naked in that bed.

Protecting the people of this town was her main priority, even if they hated her for it.

She led him into police headquarters, which occupied the lower levels of the north side of the building. Courthouse was above. This corridor was lined with age-darkened oak panels and a gloomy atmosphere. Agent Singh seemed to be cataloguing every detail, and Erin had never liked being judged by anything except the work she did. The guy may have seen her naked, but he’d never seen her working. They headed into the squad room, which buzzed with activity. Every available body was manning phones, or out canvassing for information and running leads.

“You want a coffee?” she asked him. “It comes with a health warning.” Law enforcement wasn’t known for its baristas in the break room.

“Please.” He nodded.

“I’ll get you one. Wait here.” She left him near the bullpen and went over to the coffee room that housed a couple of padded chairs, a fridge, a sink, coffeepot, and tea kettle. Hopes of finding a clean mug were futile, so she got out the scouring pad and did her best to make a spare one less of a biohazard.

Ully Mason walked into the room behind her. The ten-year veteran stood close to her shoulder.

“What’s with the fed?” he asked in a low, urgent whisper. “He looks like a fucking terrorist.”

She rinsed out the mug and grabbed a paper towel. “Spew that bullshit again, Ully, and I’ll report you myself.”

His cheeks reddened at the rebuke.

“He’s a profiler from the BAU. Here to help us figure out who did this before the town erupts.” Even though she didn’t trust the FBI agent, she was not about to badmouth him to other people in the department. Her father had taught her to respect her peers, whatever badge they wore.

“Hey, don’t get your panties in a twist.” She rolled her eyes and wondered how much trouble she’d get into if she smacked him around the back of the head. Ully cleared his throat and leaned close enough his breath brushed her ear. “I need a favor. Can you keep quiet about the fact I stopped to give out a traffic ticket on the way over?”

She frowned at him. “You were doing your job. No one is going to think the worst of you for that.”

He shifted, his equipment belt creaking like an old saddle. “Yeah, but I pulled over what turned out to be a very hot blonde in a very shiny sports car and let her off with a verbal warning after she ran a red. I was in a hurry to get to you, but it isn’t going to look good in any report.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“Especially when you got her number.” Dammit. Aside from the occasional unexpected bout of assholishness, Ully was a good officer. But he liked the ladies, and his uniform and good looks meant they liked him right back. “You didn’t have sex with her, did you?” she asked quietly.

“No.” He took a half-step away, his expression affronted. “Shit. I was on duty. I’m not that sort of cop.”

She poured coffee into two mugs and grabbed the milk out of the fridge. It was kind of depressing that she remembered Darsh Singh took a splash of milk in his. “Fine. But I’m not covering it up.”

“I never asked you to lie, just not hang me out to dry.”

“Hang you out to dry?”
God
. She stood still and forced herself to draw in a slow deep breath before she spoke again. “I’m not that sort of cop, either.”

“Yeah, well, we all make mistakes.”

Low blow. Nausea coiled hot and low in her belly. Her fist clenched around the handle of the milk jug, but she forced herself not to react in any other way.

Through the glass window, she watched Darsh cross the room toward them. Whereas Ully Mason was good-looking in a powerful, blunt, hockey player kind of way, Darsh was the classic tall, dark, and handsome. No wonder she’d been attracted to him all those years ago. He had straight black brows, sharp cheekbones, full bottom lip. His pretty face didn’t diminish his masculinity. The tall broad-shouldered frame and long legs filled out those tactical clothes in a way that made women drool. All the females in the office were casting him covert looks that thanked the world for hot guys.

Maybe
that
was Ully’s problem. He didn’t like competition.

She, for one, wasn’t interested in either of them. Not even for a no-strings hook up. There were always strings, and they were usually wrapped around her heart or her pride. Either way, they strangled self-esteem.

Darsh’s hair shone blue-black in the artificial light. His jacket rustled as he stood in the doorway.

She introduced him to Ully and held out a mug. “There’s sugar around here somewhere if you need it.” She pointed in the general direction of the countertop.

He shook his head. “This is good. Thank you.” He blew on the top and took a sip. His light brown skin gave him a healthy glow, especially in a land of shockingly white winter skin. Even her tan looked wan less than twenty-four hours back in the land of snow and ice.

Ully’s stare was resentful. “Where you from originally?”

A stillness came over Darsh. The expression in those black eyes so cold it made her nape prickle.

“Quantico,” he said quietly.

Ully’s expression grew mulish.

She hid a smile. Ully was right about one thing. They all made mistakes—he’d clearly underestimated the fed. As much as she enjoyed watching alpha males posture, she needed to get the investigation moving. “Any luck tracking down the other roommate?”

“I found her.” Dispelling the tension, Ully turned and poured himself a coffee, then stood with his back against the sink. “Tanya Whitehouse. She was at a party that was still going strong at a frat house on campus. Had her tongue down Jason Brady’s throat when I got there around eleven-thirty.”

Jason Brady was Drew Hawke’s best friend.

She grunted. “I saw Brady on the street outside his house when I drove to Cassie’s house last night. Around 10:04 PM.” He’d been wearing dark track pants and a zipped hoody. Sneakers. Considering the guy was on the football team he rarely wore anything else except his Ravens’ uniform on game day.

Ully continued. “They hadn’t heard about the murders when I picked Tanya up. Otherwise things might have gotten hairy.”

There could have been a riot.

“She still here?” Erin asked. The hot drink was thawing out her insides. It was the first time she’d felt even vaguely human in hours.

“I dropped her back at the sorority house a few hours ago. Romano took her statement. She was pretty shook up. I told her you’d be in touch today and to stay available.” Ully looked pointedly at Agent Singh. “You going to reopen the Hawke investigation?”

Erin kept her expression neutral as she watched Darsh’s reaction. People around here weren’t much on subtlety. It was both a blessing and a curse.

“I’m here to help find this killer.” Darsh straightened, and she realized he was taller than Ully.

“The sooner the better,” Ully said grimly.

“As long as we nail the right guy.” The fed took another sip of coffee.

She and Ully exchanged a look.

“What’s your plan of action?” Singh asked her pointedly.

She finished her coffee and quickly washed up her mug. She did not want him hanging over her shoulder, but she needed to keep an eye on him. The fact they’d slept together and that he’d obviously formed an opinion of her based on that encounter made her uncomfortable, but that was the price she’d paid for taking back control of her life. She hadn’t been about to waste that opportunity or let the memory of it derail her career.

“Priority number one, I want to listen to the 911 call. Then speak to the roommate. But first I need to update my boss and see what team has been assigned to work the case and make sure everyone knows what they’re supposed to be doing.” Would she be in charge? She didn’t know.

As if he’d heard her mention him, her boss waved them over to his office.

“Agent Singh, thanks for coming.” Chief Strassen reached out to shake the fed’s hand with big meaty paws. Then he led them into his office and closed the door. “I’m grateful you could start working with us on this straight away. We need the public to know that we’re doing a good job at keeping them safe.”

“Two dead girls tell their own story, Chief,” Singh said. “You know that.”

Her boss nodded, not getting pissed the way he would have if she’d voiced the same opinion.

“We need to catch this person before he hurts anyone else. Everything we have is at your disposal, Agent Singh.”

Which was a joke because the two things the feds brought to the table were toys and funds.

“I appreciate that,” Agent Singh inclined his head, “but all I really need is Detective Donovan’s full cooperation.”

The chief glanced sharply at her, and her mouth opened in surprise.

“Which she’s providing,” the fed added somewhat belatedly.

Her grim smile revealed her fused teeth.

Her boss relaxed. “Erin’s a good cop. The Hawke conviction was solid…”

A loud unspoken “but” hung in the air.

Dammit
.

“I will need a room of my own to work from,” Singh said.

A short burst of laughter escaped her. Space in the nineteen-twenties building was at a premium.

The chief’s glare shut her up. “We’ve arranged something. It isn’t perfect, but…”

Erin’s eyebrows stretched high. Not even she or Harry had their own office, and she didn’t see the chief willing to give up his space or enrage the secretarial staff just because a fed was in town for a day or two. They needed their one and only conference room for briefings and meeting updates.

“Barry cleared out his office and put a desk in there.” The chief ran a finger inside his collar.

Barry? The janitor. “There’s no natural light in that space.” She leaned forward, slightly horrified they were treating a visitor this way. Not that she wanted Darsh to get too comfortable, but…

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Singh said. “As long as the door has a lock.” This time it was the chief’s brows that rose.

“Barry has keys to all the rooms. And Linda, the administrative assistant,” Erin put in helpfully. She was enjoying letting her boss squirm for a change. “Come on, I’ll show you where it is.”

“Meeting in the conference room at nine AM sharp,” her boss yelled after her.

They walked past the locker rooms to the end of the corridor. The linoleum was dirty and curled up in one corner. Arrestees never saw this part of the building. They were kept on the other side of the bullpen, away from where the cops worked cases and did paperwork. The holding cells were downstairs in the basement.

She stopped at the last door on the right. There was a discolored square of wood where Barry had removed the “Custodian” sign.

“Here it is.” She opened the door and turned on the single bulb that dangled from the ceiling. The room was scrubbed clean and smelled strongly of pine disinfectant. The shelves where cleaning supplies usually sat were empty. She pushed farther inside and had to squeeze through the gap when the door refused to open all the way. A black industrial mat covered the floor drain. A battered desk took up most of the space—God knew how they got it in here. A plush office chair that looked suspiciously like hers added a little class to the cramped quarters.