Fatal Reunion. Jessica R. Patch
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Название: Fatal Reunion
Автор: Jessica R. Patch
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Короткие любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon Love Inspired Suspense
isbn: 9781474047517
isbn:
No, this wasn’t going to be a slam dunk.
“I’ll meet you back at the precinct, and let’s see if we can dig anything else up on Boone Wiley. Maybe we can directly connect him to one of the old crew members. And let’s turn over a few rocks, see if any of Christopher Baxter’s friends are lurking underneath.”
Luke bought two coffees and met Eric at the precinct. Luke handed Eric his caffeine jolt and collapsed into his office chair.
“I need more information about that night back when you worked theft, man.”
Luke tapped a pen on his desk calendar. “At the time, we suspected Chaz Michaels was running a crew who burglarized the elderly in wealthy neighborhoods. In and out. No injuries. No fatalities. I’d just come on board the Crimes Against Property Bureau. A little younger than Chaz and his crew but a prime candidate for the undercover work. Get in, snoop around, see if I could get close to them.”
Eric raised an eyebrow and paused middrink. “Piper Kennedy was your in.”
Luke nodded. It hadn’t started out that way, though. He’d simply taken a seat in the booth with her. Had no idea she even knew Chaz. Never dreamed she’d been in a romantic relationship with him. But the door was open. And he went through it.
“Do we know where this Chaz Michaels is?” Eric set his cup on the desk, pulled a Twizzler from his coat pocket and went to work on his computer.
“I’ve already searched the system. It’s like he vanished after Ellen Strosbergen was brutally beaten. They arrested Sylvester ‘Sly’ Watson and he’s doing time at Riverbend.”
Eric played drums with his fingers on his desk. “Did he beat the woman?”
“Prints on the tire iron says he did. He never ratted out a single other person.”
Eric gave a side nod. “That’s devotion. Gang-like.”
“They were, in a sense.” Luke opened a drawer and found a roll of antacids.
“And Harmony Fells was wrapped up in this group?”
Luke nodded.
“She’s squeaky-clean now. A few stains on her juvie record.” Eric finished his coffee and shot the cup into the can a couple of feet away. “Score!”
“Couldn’t place her, Tyson Baroni or Chaz Michaels at the scene that night.” But he could place Piper. She’d been two blocks from the Strosbergen home, running like Carl Lewis in the hundred-meter sprint.
“I know you and she had a thing—”
“It won’t affect my job.” He’d make sure of it. Never. Again.
“I was going to say that even though you had a thing with her, we ought to take a little look-see into her Jackson life. See if she’s as innocent as she says.” He stood and clutched his jacket. “Get some rest tonight.”
“You got a date?”
Eric wiggled his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“It’s why I asked.” Luke chuckled. “And you answered my question. You don’t.”
“When I can find a woman who won’t freak every time I holster a gun to my shoulder, I’ll be set. Call if something pops.”
Hopefully, when something did, Piper’s name wouldn’t be anywhere near it. The churning in his gut said otherwise.
* * *
Beale Street hadn’t changed much in a decade. Neon lights lit up the murky sky. Ashy clouds slithered around the full moon. Not a star in sight. Piper flipped the collar of her black canvas jacket around her ears. The wind was colder and stronger coming off the Mississippi River. Shards of glass and trash littered the sidewalks. Horses clip-clopped down the street eagerly waiting for couples who wanted a romantic ride in lit-up carriages. Quite the contradiction.
Blues music drifted from clubs, restaurants and bars. Saturday night. Throngs of people packed into the buildings. Riff’s turned a blind eye and welcomed anyone who at least looked sixteen, mostly riffraff. Piper had been coming and going since she was fifteen.
The neon pink sign blared over the aged brick building. Two large windows revealed patrons enveloped in cigarette smoke and pale lighting. She stood out front, inhaling the tangy scent of BBQ and char-grilled burgers. Liquor permeated Beale Street on Friday and Saturday nights. Wasn’t even May yet. Memphis in May would draw huge crowds.
She could stand here with a million regrets or go in and try to dig up some information on Christopher Baxter.
A chill swept up her spine. That being-watched feeling coated her skin. No time to second-guess the idea. It was now or never.
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