Read Online No One Left to Tell by Jordan Dane - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jordan Dane
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uphill battle to fight him.
Before she admitted defeat, her partner relieved the tension in the cramped room. "But don't you want your coffee? I brewed it myself." Tony held it out to Christian. "The city's finest."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Green eyes glared at Tony. "Some other time." Turning his attention back to her, he added, "Eight sharp, tomorrow. Coffee will be on me."
After Delacorte left, Tony closed the door, lowering his voice. "That's one cool hombre. If he's our guy, it's gonna be tough to nail him. But I admire your grit, girl."
"I don't know, Tony. I don't like him for this. He's not our guy. But my gut tells me he knows something. It's in his eyes."
"Yeah, maybe. And off the record, you may not like him for the murder, but you like him fine otherwise." He grinned.
"What the hell are you talking about? He's a suspect in a murder investigation. I'd have to be pretty hard up to—"
Seeing his insufferable enjoyment, Raven stopped her flimsy justification and thumped him on the shoulder with a finger.
"Next you'll accuse me of cruising the mug books."
"Hey, not a bad idea. For my sister-in-law, that'd be a step up." He chuckled. "Protest all you want, Mackenzie, but a partner knows such things. You just got this soft feminine thing going on, in between all the chest butting and bullying you tried on him. Personally, I found it charming. Would've worked on me, if I was single and into women with handcuffs."
Walking out the door at her heels, he poked fun at himself—a full-time job. "Now I'm just an old married guy into women with handcuffs. There's a big difference."
Damn it! Her partner was a perceptive son of a gun. An endearing yet lethal quality when directed her way.
"Yeah, well, enough of that. Come on. We've got a medical examiner waiting."
Something had indeed just happened between her and Delacorte. And she hadn't been prepared for it. Next time, she would be.
Christian's mind reeled as he rode down the elevator. It'd taken all his discipline to keep his reaction to a minimum. Who the hell had killed Blair, leaving a clear message to him?
Seek the truth about what?
Fiona had kept something from him. He felt it as sure as his heart beat in his chest. But he knew the woman. It wouldn't be easy to persuade his surrogate mother to reveal her secret.
And the point Detective Mackenzie had made about Blair's expensive taste hit home, too. He wondered about it himself, having special insight into the man's earnings as his boss. Walking out the front door of the police station, he welcomed the chill. The cold kept him on edge and sharp.
Heading for the parking garage, he made a decision. He would confront Fiona, throwing himself on her mercy. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he felt certain she had no idea of the personal message directed at him, pinned to Blair's corpse.
Fiona had asked for his help in serving as the Dunhill liaison with the police, to be her eyes and ears in the investigation. He owed Fiona so much more than his loyalty. Perhaps it would make a difference if she knew he was nearly accused of the crime himself. That dark-haired detective with the fierce eyes looked like she'd rather lock him up and throw away the key.
One thing was certain. He'd conduct his own investigation. And he wasn't about to share anything with the damned police.
The naked body of Mickey Blair lay on a gurney pulled up to a sink, a sheet covering the lower extremity of the torso. No matter how many times Raven had observed an autopsy, she never got used to it. Medicinal odors mixed with the smell of death—a tang that triggered her worst memories. Long ago, she'd forced herself to get over the feeling that each victim's privacy had been invaded. Hell, in Blair's case, being sliced across the throat was the ultimate invasion.
Suited in surgical gowns, gloves, and masks with shields attached, Chief Medical Examiner Lucy Chapman and CSI Scott Farrell huddled over the corpse. A lab tech reviewed
Before she admitted defeat, her partner relieved the tension in the cramped room. "But don't you want your coffee? I brewed it myself." Tony held it out to Christian. "The city's finest."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Green eyes glared at Tony. "Some other time." Turning his attention back to her, he added, "Eight sharp, tomorrow. Coffee will be on me."
After Delacorte left, Tony closed the door, lowering his voice. "That's one cool hombre. If he's our guy, it's gonna be tough to nail him. But I admire your grit, girl."
"I don't know, Tony. I don't like him for this. He's not our guy. But my gut tells me he knows something. It's in his eyes."
"Yeah, maybe. And off the record, you may not like him for the murder, but you like him fine otherwise." He grinned.
"What the hell are you talking about? He's a suspect in a murder investigation. I'd have to be pretty hard up to—"
Seeing his insufferable enjoyment, Raven stopped her flimsy justification and thumped him on the shoulder with a finger.
"Next you'll accuse me of cruising the mug books."
"Hey, not a bad idea. For my sister-in-law, that'd be a step up." He chuckled. "Protest all you want, Mackenzie, but a partner knows such things. You just got this soft feminine thing going on, in between all the chest butting and bullying you tried on him. Personally, I found it charming. Would've worked on me, if I was single and into women with handcuffs."
Walking out the door at her heels, he poked fun at himself—a full-time job. "Now I'm just an old married guy into women with handcuffs. There's a big difference."
Damn it! Her partner was a perceptive son of a gun. An endearing yet lethal quality when directed her way.
"Yeah, well, enough of that. Come on. We've got a medical examiner waiting."
Something had indeed just happened between her and Delacorte. And she hadn't been prepared for it. Next time, she would be.
Christian's mind reeled as he rode down the elevator. It'd taken all his discipline to keep his reaction to a minimum. Who the hell had killed Blair, leaving a clear message to him?
Seek the truth about what?
Fiona had kept something from him. He felt it as sure as his heart beat in his chest. But he knew the woman. It wouldn't be easy to persuade his surrogate mother to reveal her secret.
And the point Detective Mackenzie had made about Blair's expensive taste hit home, too. He wondered about it himself, having special insight into the man's earnings as his boss. Walking out the front door of the police station, he welcomed the chill. The cold kept him on edge and sharp.
Heading for the parking garage, he made a decision. He would confront Fiona, throwing himself on her mercy. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he felt certain she had no idea of the personal message directed at him, pinned to Blair's corpse.
Fiona had asked for his help in serving as the Dunhill liaison with the police, to be her eyes and ears in the investigation. He owed Fiona so much more than his loyalty. Perhaps it would make a difference if she knew he was nearly accused of the crime himself. That dark-haired detective with the fierce eyes looked like she'd rather lock him up and throw away the key.
One thing was certain. He'd conduct his own investigation. And he wasn't about to share anything with the damned police.
The naked body of Mickey Blair lay on a gurney pulled up to a sink, a sheet covering the lower extremity of the torso. No matter how many times Raven had observed an autopsy, she never got used to it. Medicinal odors mixed with the smell of death—a tang that triggered her worst memories. Long ago, she'd forced herself to get over the feeling that each victim's privacy had been invaded. Hell, in Blair's case, being sliced across the throat was the ultimate invasion.
Suited in surgical gowns, gloves, and masks with shields attached, Chief Medical Examiner Lucy Chapman and CSI Scott Farrell huddled over the corpse. A lab tech reviewed
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