Exposed (15 page)

“This is it? I was expecting a hog.”

Brian smiled at her as she slid into his pickup. “Maybe next time,” he said, passing her a steaming cup of coffee.

“Oh, my God, you didn’t . . .”

“There’re some sugar packets in the cupholder.”

“This is perfect.” She clutched the coffee in her hands and took a big sip as he pulled away from the curb in front of her house.

“Late night, I take it?”

She smiled and dug the sunglasses out of her purse. “Is that your way of telling me I look like hell? Because I’m well aware, thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant. You sounded tired on the phone.”

“I was out till four at an arson scene. By the time I scrubbed the stench off my skin and fell into bed, it was getting light out.” She looked him over as he pulled out of her neighborhood. He wore jeans and a pair of sneakers that were obviously well broken in. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“You’ll see.”

“I wore my Nikes, like you said, but if you’re planning to get me out on a hiking trail, think again. I’m not a hiker. On three hours of sleep, I’m barely a walker.”

“I think you can handle this.”

Maddie wasn’t so sure. His cagey attitude didn’t put her at ease. Ditto his weekend attire. In a T-shirt, faded Levi’s, and a baseball cap, he seemed even younger than his twenty-eight years, and the two-day stubble darkening his jaw added a whole new layer of sex appeal to his usual badass-agent look. Her gaze went to his big, capable hands on the steering wheel, and she had to turn her eyes away.

Why had she picked up the call this morning? She definitely knew better, but when she’d seen the words
US GOV
on her caller ID, she’d grabbed the phone like an eager teenager.

She took another swig of coffee in an effort to distract herself. “What about you?” she asked. “Did you have to work late?”

“Not too bad. Got home around midnight.” He swung onto the frontage road, and she wondered again where they were headed.

“Midnight on a Friday.” She shook her head. “Does anyone on your team ever get any R and R?”

“We’ve been pretty buried. Lately, batting practice once a week is about it for me.”

“Batting practice?” She glanced around, alarmed. Sure enough, she spotted the sign for Grand Slam up ahead on the right.

“Thought we’d squeeze in a few hits, maybe get some breakfast.”

“We?”

“Don’t worry, I’m a member here. I called and reserved a cage.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. It’s been a decade or so since I swung a bat, and—” She gaped at him as he pulled into the parking lot. “Oh, my Lord, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He slipped into a space and cut the engine. “They have softball, too. Or we can do combination.”

“Feel free to do whatever you like. I’ll watch.” She collected her coffee and hopped out of the truck.

He smiled smugly as he reached into the back of his pickup and grabbed a wooden bat. No mitt, so she hoped he wasn’t actually planning to
pitch
the balls. Or have her pitch. He led her to the front, where a steady stream of dads and sons was flowing into the place. Brian bypassed the line at the front counter and led her through a video arcade to a pair of glass doors. Her eyes didn’t even have time to adjust before they were outside again in the crisp winter air.

“Perfect day,” he said cheerfully. “Sunny. No wind.” He took his wallet out and used a plastic passcard to swipe his way into the area with the batting cages. “They have pitching machines. I assume you want to do softball?”

Maddie eyed the row of young boys in batting helmets. She looked at Brian. “I can hit a baseball.”

“You sure?” The corner of his lip twitched.

She grabbed a wooden bat from the rack mounted by the gate and tested the weight in her hands. She looked at him, and he was watching her with amusement.

“What? That thing’s too long for me.”

“Hey, whatever you want.” He led her down the row to an empty cage with a pitching machine that was already loaded with balls. “Ladies first.”

“I knew you were going to say that.” She downed a sip of coffee and nestled the cup on the ground beside the gate. Brian was already up at the pitching machine making adjustments.

“We’ll start slow,” he said.

“Gee, thanks.”

She did some quick arm stretches and prayed she wouldn’t pull a muscle or something equally embarrassing. She really could not remember the last time she’d hit anything with a bat. It had probably been college, and Brian clearly did this on a regular basis. She braced for humiliation.

Maddie positioned herself beside the plate and lifted the bat. Her pulse picked up, and she took a deep breath. “Ready.”

He made a final adjustment to the machine and came to stand behind her.

“Out of the way,” she warned.

“I’m okay.”

The ball sailed out. She swung and, to her astonishment, connected. The ball hit the netting above her head and bounced down to the ground beside her foot.

“Not bad.” He scooped up the ball. “Try widening your stance.”

She ignored him and focused on the next pitch. Which she completely whiffed.

“Spread your feet apart.” He walked up behind her and adjusted her hips, which was a complete distraction.
She missed the next pitch, too, and turned to glare at him.

“Do you mind?”

He backed away, smiling. “Not at all.”

She turned just as another pitch came at her. She let it go and calmly got into position. She bent her knees, took a deep breath, steadied her nerves.
Concentrate
.

It felt good to hold a bat in her hands. Natural, even. The ball flew out, and she reacted on pure instinct.

Thwack
.

He whistled. “Nice one.”

She turned to him with a grin. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“You play in high school?”

She scoffed.

“I’m serious. Heads-up.”

Another ball came out, and she hit a grounder. “Middle school,” she said. “The Plano Pythons.”

“Thought you grew up in Dallas.”

“It’s a suburb.” She swung again and missed. “Oops. Too early.”

She waited for her pitch, heard another satisfying
thunk
.

“Okay, your turn.” She turned and smiled at him.

“You’ve got four more pitches.” He reached out and caught the ball bare-handed. “Damn.” He shook out his fingers and jogged over to switch off the machine.

“You’re up,” she insisted. “I need a coffee break.”

He made some adjustments and reloaded balls.

“How fast does it go?”

“About sixty,” he said. “That’s what it says, anyway. I think it’s more like fifty.”

He picked up his bat from where it was leaning
against the gate, and Maddie watched him get into position. The muscles of his shoulders strained against his T-shirt as he choked up on the bat. He looked calm but intent as he waited for the pitch.

Thwack
.

It was beautiful.
He
was beautiful. She smiled as she removed her sunglasses and tucked them into the neck of her T-shirt.

“Okay, why are you so good at this?” she asked.

He smacked another ball without missing a beat. “Our office fields a team every spring. We play against other LEAs in the area.”

LEAs—that would be cop-speak for law-enforcement agencies.

“And you practice here because . . . ?”

“The place near my house holds clinics on the weekends,” he said. “It’s usually packed.”

Another pitch. Another perfect swing. He was poetry, and she couldn’t help but admire him. Just watching him gave her a warm giddiness she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“What?” He slid her a suspicious look.

He knew damn well what, but she didn’t stop smiling. “Nothing.”

She reached down for her coffee and took a sip as he continued hitting. This was
so
not a good idea, but she was doing it anyway. She was enjoying a carefree Saturday morning with—what had Brooke called him?—a delectable-looking lawman. And as an added bonus, he also happened to be a natural athlete. Of course he was. She doubted his talents were limited to the field—he probably excelled at all
physical activities. She sighed contentedly and leaned against the gate.

For a moment, she let herself entertain the fantasy of going to bed with Brian Beckman. She imagined those muscular arms wrapped around her. She imagined clutching his body against her. She imagined his low voice whispering in her ear as he urged her on. And then she wondered what he’d say to her afterward. Would he look serious, or would he give her one of his sexy half grins? Her heart started to thud as she thought of all the things she could do to put a satisfied smile on his face.

She watched him hit a few more balls, savoring the breeze in her hair and the sun on her cheeks. It was a beautiful morning, and although she knew she looked terrible, she
felt
good, better than she should on a mere three hours of sleep.

As often happened, guilt intruded on her sunny mood. As little sleep as she’d had last night, she imagined Jolene Murphy’s parents had had even less.

“So,” she said, as he sent yet another ball soaring into the netting. “I’ve been thinking about Gillian Dawson.”

He glanced back at her, his eyes serious. “You really want to talk about the case right now?” He turned and smacked another ball. Even distracted, he was spot-on.

“Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

“No.” He didn’t look at her, and she didn’t know what to say. Obviously, this wasn’t a business meeting, but it wasn’t a date, either. There was nothing date-like about hitting baseballs at nine in the morning.

He swung and missed, then darted a look in her direction.

“Did I break your concentration?” she asked sweetly.

He turned toward the machine. “What about Gillian Dawson?”

“I’ve been thinking about the case,” she said as he hit a ball. “You want to hear my ideas?”

He sighed.

“What? I’m not allowed to have ideas?”

He hit a grounder.

“We’ve got an interagency task force devoted to this thing,” he told her. “No offense, but they’re not exactly looking for more input.”

“The alphabet soup.”

“What’s your beef with law enforcement, anyway?” He glanced over his shoulder at her.

“I don’t have a beef.”

“Right.”

“I don’t. I just know that law-enforcement agencies are made up of humans. And as such, they’re prone to
human
error. Even when people have good intentions, sometimes things get missed.”

He hit a fly ball, and she ducked for cover.

“Sorry.”

She scooted farther away. “Don’t you think it’s possible a civilian might have an idea every now and then?”

“Okay, what’s your idea?”

“I’ve been thinking about the connection between Gillian and Katya.”

He turned to look at her. “What connection?”

“Look out.”

“That’s it.” He glanced at the machine, which was empty now, then back at her. “What connection?”

“That’s the thing. I think there
has
to be a connection, even if we don’t know what it is yet.”

He watched her, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. She could tell he didn’t like her involvement in the case, and she wasn’t surprised. Most of the cops she knew were territorial.

“Don’t you think?”

“We looked for a connection, but we’ve found zip,” he said. “Gillian lived and died in California. Katya and her friends had never even been to that state, except for Jolene, who went to Disneyland when she was a kid. Gillian never went to Texas, as far as we can tell.”

“What about cause of death?”

“Still no connection. Gillian was bludgeoned in her home. Heidi was kidnapped, tortured, and strangled.”

“Okay, but what about Katya? You said she OD’d.”

“Yeah?” He pulled his hat off and wiped his forehead on his shoulder.

“Do you know what she OD’d on?”

“Oxycodone. It was prescribed by her dad, something her mom was taking for back pain.”

Maddie cringed. She couldn’t imagine Katya’s mother knowing that her own pills had been the cause of her daughter’s death.

“And like I said, Gillian was bludgeoned. I don’t see the connection.”

“Except that DNA found at the scene of her murder happens to belong to one of Mladovic’s henchmen.”

“Right, but that doesn’t connect Gillian to Katya or the other girls.”

Maddie sighed, frustrated. “Did you check the ME’s report to see if Gillian had drugs in her system?”

“She didn’t.”

“Any chance she had painkillers in her possession when she died?”

Brian watched her, all playfulness gone. She was on to something, she could read it in his eyes. But he seemed intent on keeping her out of the loop on this.

“Well?”

“Well, nothing. She didn’t have any prescriptions—not according to her medicine cabinet and not according to her parents.”

“Girls’ parents aren’t always the most well informed about what drugs their daughters are taking.”

“What’s your hang-up with this drug angle?”

She shrugged. “You brought it up.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You said Mladovic was being investigated for drug trafficking, among other things. He’s a doctor. His daughter died of a drug overdose. Seems pretty obvious drugs are an element in these cases.”

Brian muttered something and looked away.

“What?”

“You’re not even supposed to know all that. I don’t like you involved in this. Mladovic’s dangerous.”

“Well, too late.”

He flashed a look at her.

“And you didn’t make me involved. I was involved the moment one of his goons tried to choke the life out of me in that parking garage.”

He repositioned the cap on his head. “It ever occur to you to let the police handle anything? Most women would hang back and wait for a detective to call
them
. Or maybe try to forget about it.”