Cox’s friend murmured to her. “Have a seat, Kimmie. We’ll leave soon.”
Thomas’s gaze darted over to the friend. Dr. Nicole Adenike was her name. She was a respected trauma surgeon at Cleveland General, a fact he’d quickly found out as soon as he’d been informed that the ladies were waiting in his office. The first thing he always did was check out an informant’s history. In this case he hadn’t had to look far—a couple of beat officers had recognized her face from having escorted perps into the hospital to have their injuries cared for.
Ben too had been familiar with Dr. Adenike. Thomas imagined that she and Ben wouldn’t be getting along very well during future hospital visits. Anger was radiating off of her in waves. She didn’t seem to hold Thomas in much higher regard.
This particular informant, or informant’s friend, rather, had been glaring daggers at Thomas from the minute she’d whisked her schoolteacher friend into his office and witnessed as Ben had all but laughed at Kimberly Cox’s “information.” Add to the fact that Thomas, while not as abrasive about it as the extremely unsubtle Ben had been, was still just as skeptical, and it showed. Apparently the pretty surgeon’s estimation of Thomas had plummeted even further when he’d failed to believe everything that came out of Dr. Cox’s mouth as though it was the gospel truth.
Too bad, too. Dr. Adenike was damn cute.
Thomas had to admit, histories didn’t come cleaner or more solid than the surgeon’s. Or, for that matter, her friend the alleged psychic’s, either. A circumstance that had his instincts on guard. Nevertheless . . .
“Listen,” Thomas said, his gravelly voice kept low. He raised his eyebrows at Dr. Adenike when the daggers she was glaring at him impossibly turned more lethal. “Whether or not I believe Dr. Cox isn’t the issue here. Even if I believed all this, it isn’t much to go on. A bridge, a dock, a building . . . that could be anywhere. Hell, it could even be another city.”
“It’ll be Cleveland,” Dr. Adenike stated through semi-gritted teeth. “She’s certain of that. She’s already told you as much. Kim doesn’t make things up.”
Nicole Adenike was a stubborn, loyal woman, Thomas thought as he leaned back in his chair and scratched the stubble on his cheek. He liked that trait in a female. Required it, in fact. If there was one thing a big, surly cop with a jealous streak a mile long couldn’t hack, it was dating a woman whose word he couldn’t be certain of. Too bad she hated his guts, he mused—otherwise, against procedure or not, he would have been forced to ask her out.
“I know,” Thomas murmured, “that Dr. Cox believes it will happen in Cleveland.” He locked eyes with Dr. Adenike, one eyebrow raising in a gesture she probably took as arrogance. Maybe it was. “But from my perspective, can you see how far-fetched all of this sounds?”
Dr. Adenike’s nostrils flared and she glanced away, color rising in her cheeks.
Very telling, Thomas thought. Perhaps she did know how ludicrous it sounded. But because of her loyalty to Dr. Cox, she believed it all anyway.
“I’m leaving,” Kimberly Cox said quietly, picking up her purse. She managed to look graceful despite the way Ben had treated her—Thomas would have a talk with him about that later. “I did what I came here to do. I’ve told you everything I know. What happens from here is up to you, Detective Cavanah. Come on, Nik. Let’s go.”
Dr. Adenike nodded and surged to her feet. Thomas watched the surgeon turn around and head toward the door, her posture rigid with anger. When you’re a cop, you learn how to read body language well. Not that any five-year-old couldn’t have picked up on the trauma surgeon’s body language just now. Her tense jaw, flared nostrils, and rigid back were saying something in between “fuck you” and “I spit on your grave.”
Thomas sighed. He mumbled something incoherent as
Thomas’s gaze darted over to the friend. Dr. Nicole Adenike was her name. She was a respected trauma surgeon at Cleveland General, a fact he’d quickly found out as soon as he’d been informed that the ladies were waiting in his office. The first thing he always did was check out an informant’s history. In this case he hadn’t had to look far—a couple of beat officers had recognized her face from having escorted perps into the hospital to have their injuries cared for.
Ben too had been familiar with Dr. Adenike. Thomas imagined that she and Ben wouldn’t be getting along very well during future hospital visits. Anger was radiating off of her in waves. She didn’t seem to hold Thomas in much higher regard.
This particular informant, or informant’s friend, rather, had been glaring daggers at Thomas from the minute she’d whisked her schoolteacher friend into his office and witnessed as Ben had all but laughed at Kimberly Cox’s “information.” Add to the fact that Thomas, while not as abrasive about it as the extremely unsubtle Ben had been, was still just as skeptical, and it showed. Apparently the pretty surgeon’s estimation of Thomas had plummeted even further when he’d failed to believe everything that came out of Dr. Cox’s mouth as though it was the gospel truth.
Too bad, too. Dr. Adenike was damn cute.
Thomas had to admit, histories didn’t come cleaner or more solid than the surgeon’s. Or, for that matter, her friend the alleged psychic’s, either. A circumstance that had his instincts on guard. Nevertheless . . .
“Listen,” Thomas said, his gravelly voice kept low. He raised his eyebrows at Dr. Adenike when the daggers she was glaring at him impossibly turned more lethal. “Whether or not I believe Dr. Cox isn’t the issue here. Even if I believed all this, it isn’t much to go on. A bridge, a dock, a building . . . that could be anywhere. Hell, it could even be another city.”
“It’ll be Cleveland,” Dr. Adenike stated through semi-gritted teeth. “She’s certain of that. She’s already told you as much. Kim doesn’t make things up.”
Nicole Adenike was a stubborn, loyal woman, Thomas thought as he leaned back in his chair and scratched the stubble on his cheek. He liked that trait in a female. Required it, in fact. If there was one thing a big, surly cop with a jealous streak a mile long couldn’t hack, it was dating a woman whose word he couldn’t be certain of. Too bad she hated his guts, he mused—otherwise, against procedure or not, he would have been forced to ask her out.
“I know,” Thomas murmured, “that Dr. Cox believes it will happen in Cleveland.” He locked eyes with Dr. Adenike, one eyebrow raising in a gesture she probably took as arrogance. Maybe it was. “But from my perspective, can you see how far-fetched all of this sounds?”
Dr. Adenike’s nostrils flared and she glanced away, color rising in her cheeks.
Very telling, Thomas thought. Perhaps she did know how ludicrous it sounded. But because of her loyalty to Dr. Cox, she believed it all anyway.
“I’m leaving,” Kimberly Cox said quietly, picking up her purse. She managed to look graceful despite the way Ben had treated her—Thomas would have a talk with him about that later. “I did what I came here to do. I’ve told you everything I know. What happens from here is up to you, Detective Cavanah. Come on, Nik. Let’s go.”
Dr. Adenike nodded and surged to her feet. Thomas watched the surgeon turn around and head toward the door, her posture rigid with anger. When you’re a cop, you learn how to read body language well. Not that any five-year-old couldn’t have picked up on the trauma surgeon’s body language just now. Her tense jaw, flared nostrils, and rigid back were saying something in between “fuck you” and “I spit on your grave.”
Thomas sighed. He mumbled something incoherent as
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