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He lifted his eyes from her pointy shoes to her face. “She’s with victim assistance, getting some counseling.”
Vanessa’s eyes clouded with worry. “Is she a street rat?”
Reilly caught the tug of annoyance at her question before he snapped at her. He was tired and hungry and Carey was not a “street rat,” Vanessa’s term for the homeless at large. “She was walking home from work.” Emphasis on the word work. He liked Vanessa. She went to bat for victims and she worked hard, but she also had a snobbish streak.
Vanessa let out her breath. “Good, ’cause I can’t make a case and use her as a witness if she’s a loon.”
Her comment lit a faint hint of aggravation in him. “Van, take it down a notch. She interrupted a stabbing in progress, trying to save a stranger and got herself hurt in the process. She could have kept walking. She did a great job with the sketch artist even though she’s terrified.”
Vanessa set her hand on her hip. “She’s a regular superhero. Good to know. Juries love an everyday hero coming to the aid of a victim. Good Samaritan angle.”
Vanessa was direct and single-minded about her cases, but she was right about Carey. With the right clothes and a little polishing, Carey would make a witness any jury would adore. If he were on that jury, he’d take one look at her expressive blue eyes, her lush mouth, and with her strength and moxie underscoring her words, he’d swallow the story, hook, line and sinker.
“What’s the plan to release the sketch?” Vanessa asked.
The lieutenant set his hands on top of his desk and pushed himself to his feet. He adjusted his belt around his waist. “We were just talking about that. I’m suspending leave for every cop in the city and we’ll release the sketch as soon as they have it ready. We’ll see if we can pull some volunteers to answer the tip line. The faster it gets out there, the faster we catch this guy.”
Reilly snuffed out the last thoughts of taking a six-hour snooze in his bed. It looked like he’d have to settle for a few hours in the bunkhouse and charge up on coffee.
“You gonna tell them or should I?” Reilly asked, glancing out into the squad room, the gold garland and red stockings they’d tossed up making a mockery of the holiday they weren’t going to have until the city was safe.
“I’ll do my own dirty work,” the lieutenant said. He wiped his brow with his hand, taking the steps into the squad room with more weight than usual. Though the team would grumble about the extra hours, they were dedicated and would do what they were asked to do, holiday or no holiday.
“It’s going to be a happy Christmas, huh?” Vanessa asked.
An image of Carey wearing a sexy Santa suit with high black boots, a short skirt and low-cut top flashed into Reilly’s mind. He could see her standing beneath twinkling Christmas lights, red and white and hot. He stamped that image out with all his might. He needed to get some rest soon. He couldn’t think of victims and witnesses as anything except people involved in his case, which made personal relationships with them off limits. His inconvenient attraction to her would disappear as soon as he’d gotten some sleep.
Ten years ago, his former partner Lucas had made the mistake of becoming emotionally involved with a victim in a case they’d been investigating. When the defense council learned of the relationship, they had twisted it in the eyes of the jury, implying Lucas had coached the victim into giving false testimony. Though Reilly didn’t believe the accusation, Lucas had been forced to leave the department, his career in ruins, and a killer had walked free. It had been a brutal lesson for every detective on the squad, one Reilly wouldn’t repeat.
Before he could reply to Vanessa, Carey appeared in the squad room, escorted by Officer Dillinger. Strong, yet fragile Carey. She’d relented and worked with the sketch artist, though she’d been under no obligation. She’d been frightened and managed to see the greater good in helping them catch a killer. He respected her a great deal for acting despite her fear.
The air in the room shifted and tensed. Was the unit catching wind their holiday plans were on hold? Or was Carey sending a vibe straight into his gut—a vibe that said protect me, help me, hold me?
Ah, for crying out loud. He needed sleep. Drumming up inappropriate feelings for a witness was a sure sign of extreme exhaustion. The fantasies his mind conjured were delusions. He opened the door to the office and strode across the squad room floor. Vanessa followed close at his back, the clicking of her heels giving her away.
“Hey, Vanessa,” Officer Dillinger said, giving Vanessa a long look up and down. “What brings you here?”
Vanessa inclined her head toward Carey. “I came to see if the rumors were true. A living witness.”
“Rumors?” Carey asked.
Vanessa waved her hand. “Don’t worry. We’ve kept it out of the media. I have a direct line from the lieutenant’s office to my cell.”
Officer Dillinger left Carey in their care.
“Will you be able to testify to what you saw after we catch this guy?” Vanessa asked, cutting straight to the point. Vanessa was watching Carey like a cat looking into a goldfish tank, scrutinizing her every move.
Carey’s eyes shuttered slightly and warning bells rang in Reilly’s head. Whatever came out of her mouth, she was lying. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Did you give the officers your contact information?” Vanessa asked.
Carey blinked twice, mustering the strength for another lie, Reilly guessed. “Yes.”
If she had told them where she lived, it was because she was planning to run.
“And you’re sure you don’t want police protection? Victim assistance explained the program to you?” Vanessa pressed.
Carey lifted her chin. “I don’t need police protection. I saw the Vagabond Killer. He had an eyeful of pepper spray. He didn’t see me.”
Vanessa appeared impressed. “Great, then you’re free to go. I’ll be in touch, hopefully soon, to do a lineup.” They shook hands and Vanessa strutted through the mass of people, stopping to chat with a few officers working the graveyard shift.
Carey shoved her hands into the pockets of the sweatshirt; her shoulders hunched low as if trying to hide inside her shirt. “I’ll see you around.”
She appeared small and vulnerable. He had to protect her from whatever had made her afraid. “Let me drive you to your apartment. You can’t walk home like that. You’ll freeze.” The sweatshirt he’d given her wasn’t enough to keep her warm in the frigid December cold.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll take the bus.” She glanced away. Lying again. “Besides, I’m used to trekking around in a sweatshirt.” Her stomach growled and she pressed a hand over it.
“I can take you somewhere to get something to eat.” He couldn’t figure her out, her body language shifting from proud to unsure, defiant to willing to help and back again.
“I’ve got things in my apartment,” she said, but she licked her bottom lip as if thinking СКАЧАТЬ