Emergency Response (7 page)

Right. She couldn't stand the pain of loss again. Couldn't survive it.

Argh.
She was getting nowhere by letting her mind wander.

She grabbed the list and started down the first page. A few of the high-pressure responses were easy to recall, but the uneventful ones faded into each other. She checked off the ones she remembered. After she finished reviewing the entire report, if she hadn't found a lead, she would come back to the minor incidents to see if they held a clue.

She flipped the paper. Ran a finger down it. Check. Check. Check. Down the page she went. Nothing jumped out at her. She moved on to page three. Checked off the first six entries, then her pen paused over number seven.

Oleda Alverez. That had been a hairy response. A drug house. Open to the elements. Squatters inside. Filth. Garbage. Needles.

“Any success?” Noah asked from behind.

She tapped her pen on Oleda's name. “This one was interesting.”

“A woman? Not something I expected.” He sat on the desk, closer than she would like.

She eased her chair back to create some distance, which earned her a raised eyebrow. She didn't care. She had to do everything necessary to protect her heart.

“Oleda wasn't the problem,” she explained. “In fact, she was the victim. It was her boyfriend who unloaded on me.”

Noah flexed his jaw. “Tell me about him.”

“We arrived on scene. Drug house. Oleda had been shot. Everyone was too high to tell us what had happened. So we treated and transported her to the hospital. There was really no point. We knew she was in bad shape when we arrived on scene and she had a slim chance of making it. Still, you have to hope, right? Do your best and make the transport. But she died in the rig.”

“So you got her to the hospital?”

Darcie nodded. “That's where the boyfriend lost it. Doctors met us at the rig where they pronounced Oleda. The boyfriend had followed the ambulance. He came running over and went ballistic. Blamed me. Said if I had done a better job, gotten there sooner and so on, that she'd be fine. He called me every name in the book. Even threatened to get even with me.”

“You catch his name?”

“No, but now I wish I had.”

“Can you describe him?”

She searched her memory, ticking through the events until she could call him up. “He was Latino. Stocky. Maybe five-ten, two hundred twenty pounds. He was wearing a blue-and-white shirt.”

“Like your attacker?” Noah asked.

“Yeah. Similar, I think.” The hospital scene played in living color in her brain. “The guy at the hospital had a symbol on his sleeve. An N with a—” Realization sent her gaze flying to Noah. “My attacker... His shirt. It had the symbol on it, too. It was a large number fourteen with the letter N at the bottom of the four.”

“Nuevo gang insignia.”

“That's the gang you suspected my attacker belongs to, isn't it?”

“Yes. And the boyfriend you described was of the same build and size as your attacker, too.”

“Wait, you think... Couldn't be. Right? Oleda's boyfriend and my attacker are one in the same?”

“You're the one who needs to answer that question. Could this guy be your attacker?”

Darcie searched deep in her memory. “I can't come up with a clear face for Oleda's boyfriend. But when I saw my attacker yesterday, I didn't recognize him. I think he'd at least look familiar if he was Oleda's boyfriend.”

Noah sat staring ahead for a few moments, looking like he was processing the information. “Let's review what we know. The gang symbol suggests Oleda's boyfriend is in the same gang as your attacker. Is there anything about the boyfriend that you can think of to absolutely rule him out as your attacker?”

She ran the night like a video through her mind. “No.”

“Then we need to locate this guy.”

“But how?”

“We'll start with Oleda's homicide investigation. Since my team didn't handle the case it had to have happened outside the city limits.”

“Right.” She described a neighborhood on Portland's east side.

“Means Oleda's homicide investigation would have been done by County. Or if the shooting was gang-related, then the gang task force would have handled it.” He stood, that resolved look of determination on his face again. “I'll call Skyler after lunch to see who ran the investigation and try to get a copy of the file.”

“Lunch? Really? There's no way I can eat a thing.”

“You have to keep your strength up.” He seemed to want to say something else but clamped down on his lips.

It didn't matter. His expression said it all. She needed her strength to stay a step ahead of a dangerous killer. One who appeared to have gang affiliations. One who possessed powerful weapons. And one who wasn't afraid to try to kill with a whole precinct of police officers standing at the ready.

SEVEN

“I
wish you'd reconsider and take me with you,” Darcie said as she stepped past Noah and into the firehouse. “I might see something in Oleda's neighborhood that you'd miss.”

Noah ground his teeth to keep from snapping at her. They'd been over and over this on the drive to the firehouse. There was no way he'd allow her to accompany him to the run-down neighborhood where Oleda had lived.

“I'm not changing my mind.” Noah clicked the dead bolt into place behind her. She was in danger, serious danger, and even if she wasn't, he certainly wouldn't take her to another gang-infested neighborhood.

He took a moment to let his gaze run over every inch of the place in view. He was on edge and attuned to every sound and movement. Had been from the moment he'd escorted her out of the precinct through their sally port—a secure, controlled entryway used to process criminals. He only wished he'd realized how desperate her attacker was before the shooting this morning. He could have used the sally port then, too. He'd considered it, but he hadn't wanted to parade her past holding cells and subject her to prisoner catcalls.

He trailed her into the family room, listening beyond the sharp staccato of her heels ringing from the concrete floors to the high ceiling. Beyond the large metal air ducts clicking and groaning above as the heat turned off. Straining to hear anything out of the ordinary. Anything signaling danger. She settled on the sofa. He took a seat next to her and could feel her unease. He wished he could do something to make it better.

He'd tried to make her as comfortable as possible at the precinct, and he'd called off going to the firing range to assess her skills. She didn't need to be around the sound of gunfire today. Plus, he'd do his best to be with her 24/7 and if not, he'd be sure one of her teammates stood guard until this was resolved, so he needn't worry about how well she could handle her gun. That could wait until after they apprehended her attacker.

After. Right.
He wouldn't be part of her life then. They'd be back to the dance of avoidance and she'd never go to the range with him. The thought brought an ache to his gut.

She reached for a pillow. The scarf around her neck fell open to reveal a circle of angry green-and-purple bruises. He'd caught a glimpse of them before, but hadn't seen the extent of the damage.

Visions of this creep's fingers clamped around her delicate skin came to mind. Anger roared through him. This was precisely why he wouldn't take her to Oleda's place. In fact, he shouldn't go, either. He should stay right here with Darcie and send another detective to do the interview. Someone else could question the neighbors, but no one else could ensure her safety as well as he could.

She started to adjust the scarf.

“Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?” He reached out to touch her neck.

She jerked back, putting distance between them. “Because I didn't want to see that look on your face.”

“What look?” He lowered his hand, as his touch was clearly unwelcome.

“Pity. Sadness. Desire to run the other way.”

“You're reading an awful lot into one look, don't you think?”

“Trust me. Plenty of people gave me the exact same look after Haley died, and I've had enough of it to last a lifetime.” She sighed.

“I'm sure they were only trying to show you they cared and were worried for you.”

“True. They did. And at first, I appreciated it. But after time passed and I started to come out of the depths of my grief, I realized the Darcie I'd once been with my friends had ceased to exist. I had become the Darcie who lost her child. The woman no one knew what to say to. The woman to hold at a distance or completely avoid because that was the easiest thing to do.”

He started to reach for her hand, but at her terse look, he stopped. “I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

“See?” She gestured at his face. “There it is again. I don't want ‘sorry.' I don't want pity. I want to be seen for who I am. I've come to realize that grief changes form, but it will never end. Haley will always be in my heart. I'll always long to hold her again. To talk to her. But I recognized back then that I had to move on or I'd drive myself crazy. I couldn't let Haley's loss be the only thing that defined me. The same thing is true of this attack. I can't just be a victim. I have to move on. Your pity doesn't help. It makes me want to sink into despair, but I won't let it take over.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.

She was stronger than he'd thought, but no matter what she claimed, she hadn't really moved on from Haley's death. If she had, she wouldn't be so against dating. Against having children again. A stance she'd made clear over the last six years. And she was also wrong about him.

“Know this, Darcie,” he said earnestly. “I don't pity you. I don't feel sorry for you. I admire your strength, and if you're seeing anything in my look, it's that I feel bad for not being there when you needed a friend. For failing you.”

Her eyes widened. “You're not my protector. I can take care of myself.”

“I'm everyone's protector,” he said before thinking it through. He, like most police officers, felt a heavy burden to help others. Not just on duty, but all the time. That's why most officers carried a gun even when they were off duty. He couldn't fathom being in a situation where he couldn't take action to save a life or intervene when a criminal took advantage of the innocent.

She smiled but it was forced. “I get that you're on guard all the time. I know that sense of responsibility from my teammates, and, in a way, I do the same thing with medical issues. But make no mistake, Noah. I am capable. I can take care of myself.”

“Like when you readily drew your weapon?”

“Okay, fine.” She jutted out her chin. “You had to force me to pull out my gun. But who's to say if I hadn't called you, I wouldn't have taken it out on my own?”

“Ah, see, there's the thing. You
did
call me. First. Before doing anything else. You wanted help because you knew your skills were limited. That's the smart thing to do—recognize when a situation is something you're not equipped to handle and call someone with the training to step in. So stop fighting my help and concern for your well-being. Accept it for what it is. It doesn't make you weak or less of a person. It doesn't make you Pitiful Darcie. It makes you Smart Darcie. A woman who knows her limitations and accepts help when needed.”

“Fine.” She relaxed her arms and her shoulders slumped.

“And don't feel defeated. There is no one on this earth who doesn't need help at some time.”

“Even you?”

“Well, maybe not me.” He grinned to show her he was kidding. “Can we reach an agreement that you'll stop thinking I pity you and accept my help going forward?”

“Yes,” she said, albeit reluctantly. “But only your
help
. Nothing more. This thing—” she gestured between them “—this attraction or whatever you want to a call it, goes no further.”

He started to tell her he didn't intend to take it any further when Archer walked into the room. His gaze went from Noah to Darcie and back again. “Looks like I'm interrupting something serious.”

“No,” they said in unison.

“Right.” Archer leaned against the wall, watching them.

Noah had always respected Archer, but had also felt uneasy around him. The guy was so in tune with things it was like he could read your mind. Something Noah didn't need in his life.

“Everything okay with Isabel and Pilar?” Darcie asked.

“They're both fine. Isabel is napping and I suspect Pilar's taking the time to do the same thing.” Archer turned his focus to Noah. “Would now be a good time to bring you up to speed on what I've found on Kerr Development?”

Noah gestured at a club chair. “Take a seat and fill us in.”

Archer sat on the edge of the chair and planted his arms on his knees. He leaned forward, looking intense and businesslike.

“First, let me tell you that Kerr Development is a privately held business,” Archer said. “This means they don't have to publish the same reports as a public company, giving me limited access to their finances. But I
was
able to learn that a good deal of their income is generated from retail rentals in the many malls they own across the metro area.”

“I had no idea they owned malls,” Noah said.

Archer nodded. “They have more retail space than any other single company in the city and they report having the lowest vacancy rate, as well.”

“So they're doing okay financially?” Noah asked.

“That's what it looks like on the surface, but here's the odd thing,” Archer said, warming to his subject. “I decided to check out some of the malls reporting one-hundred-percent occupancy and I found quite a few vacant storefronts.”

“I don't understand,” Darcie said. “They say it's full, but it's not? Why do that?”

“Only reason that makes sense to me is that they want someone to think they're doing better than they actually are.”

“Someone, like who?” Noah asked.

“Potential investors. Builders looking to develop malls. Their board of directors or even Winnie, if she's not active in the day-to-day operations and relies on reports.” Archer leaned closer. “But that's not the oddest part. I called the phone numbers posted on the vacant storefronts and was told they're rented.”

“Maybe someone just rented them,” Darcie offered.

“I'd think that, too, except I asked about spaces all around town. I even had other team members call in case they recognized my voice. We were all told there were no vacancies.”

“So let me get this straight,” Noah said. “They have empty retail space, but when potential renters call, they turn them away.”

Archer nodded. “Makes no sense. With retail rents the way they are, they've got to be losing money on these properties, and yet, it doesn't seem as if they are.”

“Weird,” Noah said. “Can you dig deeper?”

“I've got a few contacts I can check with.”

“I appreciate it, man.” Noah looked at Darcie, who seemed as puzzled as they all were. “We can ask Winnie about this when we meet with her.”

Darcie frowned. “She's not very involved with the business anymore, but hopefully she can shed some light on it.”

Noah could see she was hesitant about approaching Winnie. The team owed Winnie a lot and probably felt a little ungrateful to Darcie to repay the woman by digging into her business affairs. He wished he didn't have to question her, either. He'd be diplomatic with the older woman, but he had to ask tough questions.

“How's the rest of the investigation going?” Archer asked.

Noah brought Archer up to speed and an idea hit him. “I was just about to go over to Oleda's former address to see what I can find out about her boyfriend. Since you're not working today, would you be willing to go instead?”

“Be happy to help in any way I can.” Archer pushed to his feet.

“Wait.” Darcie shot Noah a look. “You're passing this off? Shouldn't you be the one to do the questioning?”

“Don't trust me, huh, Darcie?” Archer joked.

“It's not that, I—”

“I don't know of any police officer who is better tuned in to people and their nuances than Archer,” Noah interrupted. “If there's something to be gained from this visit, he'll find it, even if it's something no one's willing to say out loud.”

“I know, but...” She shrugged.

“But you think I'm shirking my duty.”

“No. I don't know...maybe. We have to find this guy. And soon. Before he strikes again.”

“Trust me,” Noah said, making strong eye contact with her. “I know exactly what this guy is capable of and that's why I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

* * *

Darcie grabbed her knitting and shifted on the overstuffed chair in the game room. She had to do something to keep her nerves at bay and keep her mind off Noah as he watched her like a hawk. He was in Jake's favorite chair at a round table across the room, working on a puzzle of one of Portland's twelve bridges. Jake always had a jigsaw puzzle in progress. He claimed it helped clear his mind, but she didn't get it. That many pieces needing sorting and combing through drove her crazy. Now knitting was another story. Making scarves, mittens and hats for foster children usually relaxed her.

Not today, though. Not stuck in this room with Noah, each of them engrossed in their own thoughts. As much as she willed her mind not to, it kept rewinding to the morning attack and Noah's care. To the way he'd put his life on the line for her. Shielded her from bullets with his body. He'd been her hero and the thought of a man with hero potential who went beyond friendship in her life thrilled her as much as it scared her.

She sighed.

Noah looked up. Their eyes met. A strange catch settled in her chest and she jerked her focus back to her knitting. There was something more developing between them despite their best efforts to fight it. Despite her not having a clue what he was thinking. What he seemed to want to tell her but kept backing off from revealing.

Perhaps he was just like Tom. A man who internalized his emotions until one day he lost control and disappeared. Perhaps all men were like that.

Okay, fine, she knew better than that. She worked with strong, compassionate men who, though they didn't talk about their feelings, stuck around through the hard stuff.

So she was willing to concede that there were men out there she could trust. Signs had always pointed to Noah being one of those men, but now? Now she wasn't sure. She liked knowing he was physically there to protect her. Liked being in his company. Liked
him,
for that matter.