Ricochet. Jessica Andersen

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      It wasn’t that he had anything against progress, Tucker thought, as he watched Alissa record the position of a femur. And it wasn’t as if he missed Fitz all that much. Hell, if the old coot wanted to retire, who was he to complain? It was…

      Admit it, he muttered inwardly. It’s Alissa.

      She rattled him. Unsettled him. Fascinated him, though he had no business being fascinated with a local when he’d put in for—and been granted—his next transfer. The only thing keeping him in town right now was the task force. Once the girls were found and the kidnapper was in custody, he’d be in the wind.

      Growing up, he’d hated the moves from one military base to the next, hated the look on his mother’s face when his father’s next set of orders came through. These days it was the opposite. His parents were happily settled in Arizona, while he was the one skipping around.

      But he liked it that way. Liked his freedom. His independence.

      As though she sensed his thoughts or his gaze, Alissa lowered the camera and looked across the distance separating them. He felt their eyes lock, felt a click of connection in his chest. He wanted to go to her, to tell her how he’d nearly gone out of his mind digging down to her.

      Instead he turned away and focused on the second crime scene, where two members of the bomb squad were excavating what was left of the tunnel. Chief Parry stood nearby with his hands jammed in the pockets of his uniform parka. He frowned as Tucker joined him.

      “Bastard rigged a trip wire to Lizzie’s ankle and shoved her into the tunnel. We got a few fragments of the device. Trouper’s taking them.”

      Tucker nodded. “Reasonable.” The BCCPD had a good relationship with the feds, particularly the FBI. After the second kidnapping, when it became clear that this was more than a disgruntled teen hitting the road for Vegas or points west, they had called for help and gotten Trouper, a lean, graying agent who’d done his damnedest to help without stepping on toes.

      Parry glanced over toward the rapidly emptying grave site. “They find anything with the bones?”

      Tucker shrugged. “More bones, maybe a few scraps of cloth. They’re having trouble with the ice.”

      The chief grunted, which was his fallback answer to most everything. “The skeleton will go to the ME for a preliminary workup, and then we’ll let Wyatt have the skull. Maybe we can get a recognizable face from it.”

      Tucker stuck his hands in his pockets. “Fitz said there was no way to reconstruct a face from a skull.”

      “Fitz also wasn’t a big fan of blood-spatter trajectories and DNA. If it wasn’t a fingerprint, he didn’t want to know about it,” Parry said with uncharacteristic asperity. “And I wish you guys would get off the Fitz kick already. You know as well as I do that he was a pain in the ass and long past retirement. Yeah, he cleared a hell of a lot of cases, but he was a damned dinosaur. You should be kissing these girls’ butts for bringing in new techniques, not bitching because they do things differently. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have hired them!”

      The chief kept his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard, but there was no question that he was serious.

      And knowing that the chief had a valid point, Tucker felt a low burn of shame. “But, Chief—”

      “No buts. I want you with me on this.” Parry leveled a finger at Tucker. “If you lead, the others will follow. I want you to give those women a break, particularly Wyatt.”

      Tucker shifted uneasily. “I don’t have anything against Wyatt.”

      The captain grunted. “Baloney. You glare any time you’re within fifty feet of her, and you do a damn good job of not letting that happen too often. Since you’re usually a pretty level guy, I figure there’s one of two reasons for that. Either you’re hot for her or you hate her guts. Which is it?”

      The chief’s question hung on the air between them as the cold day dimmed toward a colder dusk. Tucker hid the wince—or tried to—and said, “Neither. I’m just not sure she’s the right cop for the job. She’s awfully young—” and tiny, delicate, breakable “—to be in charge of evidence collection.”

      “She’s older than you were when you took the oath, McDermott. She has eight years on the job in Tecumseh, and more training than Fitz ever bothered to get.” Parry shot him a look. “So what’s your real problem with her?”

      Knowing he wasn’t going to win, Tucker set his teeth. “No problem, Chief.”

      “Good,” Parry said in a voice that told Tucker he didn’t believe a word of it. “Then you won’t mind working with her on this case. You’ll be good together—you see the big picture while she focuses on the details.”

      Damn, Tucker thought. He should’ve seen this coming a mile away. He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

      “Well, I do, and that’s what’s important, isn’t it?” Though Parry’s voice remained quiet, his slate-blue eyes held a hint of steel in their depths. “I need her at the hospital to interview the girl. Go with her.” Now a hint of frustration, of worry worked its way into the chief’s expression. “I’m not doing this to ride your ass, McDermott. I need the team working together, and right now it’s not. If we’re not working together, we might not find this guy in time.” Edgy concern snapped in his tone. “We might not find the other two girls in time.”

      Tucker felt it, too. The sense that an invisible timetable had been moved up by the kidnapper’s mocking note. Was it simply a taunt, or did it mean something else?

      Hell, he didn’t know. And damned if the chief wasn’t right—as usual. The task force needed to work together, not against itself. So Tucker nodded grudgingly. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

      “Of course you will,” Parry said. “It’s an order.”

      ALISSA WAS STOWING her gear in Cassie’s truck—and trying to hide the winces—when a strong arm grabbed her pack and Tucker’s voice said, “You’re riding with me.”

      She hated that, even after an afternoon as physically and emotionally bruising as this one, her pulse still kicked into overdrive at his nearness. Because of it, and because of the pounding aches in her back and neck, she turned and scowled at him. “You’re kidding.”

      “Nope.” He didn’t look happy about it, either. “Chief Parry wants us together on this one. He wants us to go to the hospital and talk to Lizzie.”

      “That’s where I’m headed,” she snapped, “but not with you.”

      “Sorry.” He slung her pack over his shoulder and gestured towards his vehicle—a black SUV with oversize tires and mud flaps emblazoned with the letters BCCPD. “Chief’s orders. He wants his team working together on this.”

      “Oh.” She tried not to slump as she understood. She, Cass and Maya hadn’t been able to make friends, so the chief was going to do it for them. Damn, she hated being manipulated, hated that she hadn’t been able to work it out on her own. Worse, she hated that part of her was excited at the idea of partnering with McDermott, even temporarily. Knowing it spelled trouble all the way around, she shook her head. “I can drive myself to the hospital and hook up with you later. СКАЧАТЬ