Family Honor (2 page)

Mel yawned and drew the covers up to her neck.
'Night Mama
.

* * * *

Shortly before seven-thirty the next morning, Mel entered the WPD building and rode the elevator to the homicide division on the sixth floor. A latte in each hand, she butted the door open and nodded to the receptionist who was chatting with another detective. Not one for small talk and even less for gossip, Mel kept walking. Everyone in the office knew she was barely civilized in the morning until
she'd
polished off a caffeinated beverage of one type or another. This morning something light seemed in order, and she'd texted Stone,
"latte?
".

His to the point reply
"k"
was all she needed. When he texted back
"fried roll?"
she replied
"k."
She
hadn't
heard her text notification buzz again but when she set the cups on her desk and pulled her phone from her pocket she saw the red light flashing. Mel worked the buttons and read the message as someone approached from the side.

"What, were they out of fried rolls?" She asked as she read his latest text message.
"Feebs."
She glanced up at him questioningly. "What?"

"Feebs are here," he replied in a hushed tone.

Mel pocketed her phone and reached for her drink, taking a sip before answering. "Henry, it's been a short night and I'm slightly sleep deprived. What the hell are you talking about?"

He nodded his head toward their boss's office.

Mel followed his motion and spotted a tall man in a black suit talking to their captain, Hank Reeder.
"Feebs?"
She raised her eyebrows at Stone.

"F-B-I."
He waggled his brows.

She took another sip and set her cup down. "You do realize it took more letters for you to text 'feebs' than had you just entered F-B-I."

Stone reached for the other cup and punched the drinking spout in. "You're totally missing the point here.
He's
FBI and where there's one, there are sure to be others. You think they've been sent in to help with our cheerleader case?"

Mel wandered over to Stone's desk and pulled a greasy fried roll and a napkin out of the sack
she'd
spotted there. She took a bite, savored the fattening, sweet glaze, and wondered briefly how many bites
she'd
take before guilt got the best of her and she tossed the thing out.

"It has to be our case, there's nothing else much happening right now," Stone continued.

She eyed the dark headed stranger, what little she could see of him from across the room, and shrugged. "Dunno."

Stone's eyebrows continued to dance. "Wonder if he's got any cute, brunette special agents with him?"

Mel grinned. "Like Shemar Moore?"

He rolled his eyes. "I was actually thinking female, thank you very much."

The captain exited his office with the suited man in tow, headed in their direction.

Mel sputtered and wadded the rest of her roll into the napkin, tossing the whole mess in the trash can under her desk.

"Hey!" Stone protested.

"I'll pay you back." Mel turned away from the approaching men and checked her appearance in the small mirror she kept in her desk drawer. She bared her teeth and quickly scrubbed them with a finger before replacing the mirror and spinning around.

"You look fine," Stone assured her.

"Shut up," she muttered out the side of her mouth as her boss stopped in front of her.

"Curtis, Stone, apparently the chief thinks we can use some help on the cheerleader case. He placed a call to the FBI. This is Agent—" he glanced up at the man who had several inches on him. "What did you say your name was?"

The agent trained his gaze on Mel.
"Supervisory Special Agent Nathan Willis.
Nate." He extended his hand.

She shook his hand, startled by the strength of his grip and, at the same time, the smoothness of his skin. She stared into his bright brown eyes and for a moment,
couldn't
speak.

Stone cleared his throat and extended his hand. "This is Detective Melanie Curtis, and I'm Detective Henry Stone."

The agent seemed reluctant to withdraw his hand from Mel's but finally did, and turned to Stone.
"Pleasure to meet you.
I understand the two of you have been working the case. A third victim showed up last night?"

Mel found her voice.
"Yeah.
It was late, so
I'm
not sure we have the report yet. But I've got pictures and details from the first two
vics
here on my desk."

"I was just uploading the stuff from last night to my computer," Stone added.

Willis nodded. "Do you have a room we can use? A small conference room perhaps, with whiteboards or bulletin boards?"

"Sure." Reeder pointed a couple doors down from his office. "Make yourself at home. Let Curtis know if you need anything."

Mel watched her boss retreat, his gait waddling, bald head reflecting the overhead fluorescent lights.

"Let's take everything you have into the war room and get it organized." Willis looked at Stone.
"If you could print out some pictures from last night that would be great.
Do what you can, then bring them in." He turned to Mel. "Can I help you carry anything?"

Still slightly flustered, she looked at her desk. "Sure." Scooping up an armload of folders, she handed them over. She grabbed her latte and smiled at him apologetically. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be here."

"No problem.
I'm
used to lousy coffee. The FBI doesn't make it any different than the police do."

Stone appeared shocked.
"Whatchu talking 'bout Willis?"

Mel shook her head. "How long have you been waiting to say that?"

"Since the minute I heard his name." Stone grinned.

Willis stared at Stone coolly then finally let him off the hook and smiled. "I bet you think I've never heard that one before."

Mel paused for a moment to admire the perfect smile—straight, white teeth and lips that curled ever so slightly.
I could definitely nibble on those lips.
Horrified that she was thinking such a thing about a fellow officer and hoping desperately she
wouldn't
say something outrageous, she tried to clear her head but her mind felt murky.
Get a grip, girl!
Shaking off the fog, she leaned in to the agent. "Sorry about that. Please,
don't
let the lack of a pocket protector fool you. He's a founding member of the Nerd Society."

"And proud of it!"
Stone nodded smugly. He nodded toward Mel. "And don't let the recently lightened blonde locks fool you—her nickname around here is 'Black Widow'. They say she kills after mating."

Mel felt the blood drain from her face.
How could he say such a thing?
Didn't
he sense the sexual tension between her and the FBI hunk? She faced Stone and the brotherly expression on his face answered her question.
No, he did not.

Sweet, sometimes naive, oblivious Stone
.
He
didn't
get caught up in the games people played, she wasn't even sure he understood them. But his investigative skills were top notch and she
couldn't
think of anyone she'd rather have watching her back. Letting him off the hook, she nudged his arm. "Moron."

Stone's self-satisfied grin widened.

Willis laughed. "Kills after mating, huh?" He shifted the load of folders in his arms and turned toward the conference room. "I'll keep that in mind," he told Stone, and winked at Mel before he walked off.

Mel knew her face flushed bright red, but there was nothing she could do about it. He was gone, anyway.
For the moment.
As he
retreated
she couldn't help thinking of the line "
hate to see him go, but love to watch him leave
"
.
His trim physique looked damned fine in a suit. She wondered how
he'd
look in a pair of tight jeans.
Oh, I think I know
. Once again, she had to shake her head to clear it.

"Shoot!" Stone sat at his desk and fired up his computer. "I forgot to ask him if any more of his team are here."

She watched Willis turn the light on in the conference room and begin arranging the furniture. "He didn't go very far. You can still ask."

Stone nodded absently. "You know, he might not be so bad after all."

Mel sipped her latte. "Smells like trouble to me."

"Think so?" He inserted the memory card from his camera into the machine, and began uploading photos.

No, he smells like Aramis or some other musky cologne I can never resist.
Mel sighed, and headed into the conference room.

Willis had dragged the bulletin boards and positioned them next to the white board.
He'd
lined up a row of tables underneath, leaving one lone table in the middle with chairs around it.

"Taking that 'make
yourself
at home' comment to heart, I see," Mel said as she entered.

He glanced at her and smiled. "We have a method that works pretty well. If you stick to an established routine, you spend less time worrying about the logistics of things and can devote more energy to the task at hand."

"I see." She blinked, not sure she really did, but expecting she was going to find out.

He fanned her folders out on the lone table with chairs. "Have a seat over here, and hand me what you've got on victim number one. Photos first, then I'll ask you for some information."

Mel did as directed.

Willis peeled off his suit coat and draped it over the back of a chair. He took the handful of pictures she held out and spread them across his table. He chose the mug shot of the woman and pinned it to the top row of the bulletin board. Below
it
he displayed the shots of her body at the crime scene. He moved to the white board and picked up a blue marker.
"Name?
Age?"

Mel had been so caught up watching him dart around she
wasn't
prepared with the answers. She leafed through the files while he stopped and looked at her.

"You don't know your victim's name?" he asked, sounding incredulous.

"Of course I do. It's Rhonda something." She shuffled papers and felt the heat of another blush creep up her chest, past her neck, to her face.

"Rhonda Something.
Unusual last name."
His voice was patronizing.

"Look." Mel slapped her folder closed and caught his gaze. "I wasn't expecting this today. I was up 'till all hours with number three last night—"

"I'm sorry." Willis put his hands on his hips. "Maybe we should put a notice in the newspaper, asking the killer to please do his dirty work earlier in the day because our officers are getting too tired."

She stood to face him and realized they were very close to the same height. He was slightly taller, and for a second that threw her. Most of the men she worked with were shorter, and she knew she intimidated them. Nathan Willis was nowhere near intimidated. "Look, Agent, that's not what I meant."

"Supervisory Special Agent," he corrected.

"Supervisory Special
Ass
," she retorted. "Yesterday I was in charge of this case. Today, apparently,
I'm
playing second fiddle to you. Okay, fine, I appreciate the help, I really do. If you could just show some mutual respect and departmental courtesy, it might go a long way. Because I have to tell you, when you say
'Jump',
not everyone around here is going to say
'how high?'.
"