The Rookie: A Romantic Suspense Standalone (The Intelligence Unit Book 1) Page 8

  “I can hear you, Wikipedia.”

  Yikes. Tara had seen sweeter expressions from defense attorneys on critical cross-examinations.

  Capelli, however? Seemed unfazed. “I’m well aware of your keen sense of hearing, Detective. My commentary on your demeanor was purely observational. No offense intended.”

  “You’ve gotta admit, he’s not wrong, G,” Hollister said, his grin expanding as Garza’s expression remained…well, gruff.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Garza grunted, although the words—and his frown—seemed to have lost their bite. He aimed his dark gaze at Tara. “Anyway, what’s the word on Sansone?”

  Ugh. “I was hoping you guys could tell me.”

  Isabella frowned, then nodded at Capelli, who brought the digital case board to life on a large, wall-mounted screen at the back of the office. “Unfortunately, not much. Hollister and Garza and Dade recanvassed Amour’s neighborhood and got a whole lot of nothing on her attacker.”

  “Xander mentioned that when I saw him the other night,” Tara said, matching Isabella’s frown. She hadn’t been expecting much, but… “How about the forensics from the crime scene?”

  “We just got the last of the reports back from the lab this morning,” Capelli said, motioning to the monitor. Do not look at the photographs of Amour’s injury. Do not look—

  Tara moved her gaze to focus on the images of Amour’s house, staring hard. “Anything there?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Capelli said. “No prints that don’t belong to Amour or the handful of friends she said visited in the few weeks before the assault. We checked for hair and fiber even though I know I don’t have to tell you that finding either isn’t exactly definitive without other evidence.”

  No, he really didn’t. Tara couldn’t even count how many times she’d heard the story of the forensics investigator who had found a hair at the scene of a double-homicide that detectives had thought would break the case wide open…only to have the DNA match that of the detective’s wife. Poor guy had unknowingly brought it into the crime scene on his jacket, and the story had become the stuff of defense attorneys’ wildest dreams. “Yes, I’m well aware. I take it we didn’t find any, regardless?”

  “No.” Isabella sighed. “We did get a partial boot print in the dirt outside that’s a little promising. We can’t be sure it doesn’t belong to a meter reader or a delivery person, but we do know the wearer is a big guy.”

  “Size fifteen, to be exact,” Hollister put in, and okay, that they could work with.

  “So, it could definitely belong to our assailant. Anything specific about the brand?” Tara asked, hope perking in her chest.

  It sputtered out a second later. “Second most popular in the U.S.,” Capelli said, clicking over to a photograph. “Available on dozens of online sites as well as five hundred fifty-two different stores all over the country.”

  “Shit,” Tara muttered.

  “My feelings exactly.” Garza folded his arms over his chest, his shoulder holster hugging a set of muscles that made him almost as menacing as his dark stare. “I’d love nothing more than to nail this asshole and get him and Sansone off the streets.”

  “How about the tattoo?” Tara asked, but Capelli shook his head.

  “There are tens of thousands of tattoos in our database, and those are just the ones we have record of. The hash mark detail does narrow it down a bit, but it’s still a popular design, and she didn’t recognize it, which means it’s likely her attacker doesn’t work at the club.”

  Damn it. “So, we can’t narrow it down.”

  “No.” Hollister shook his head. “Sansone has a few guys on his club payroll who are big enough to fit the size description, but they’re either not white or not inked that we can tell.”

  Tara bit back her frustration. “Which means all we really have to go on is this tattoo.”

  Capelli nodded, although he looked far from happy about the affirmative. “Statistically speaking, the odds of finding the man who assaulted Amour on a partial of a tattoo that she only got a glimpse of one time under duress are exceedingly improbable.”

  “And even if we do, we’ll still have to tie him to Sansone,” Hollister said, running a hand through his red-brown hair. “Guys like that don’t exactly get chatty. Not when they know what douchebags like Sansone are capable of.”

  “I take it he’s been a Boy Scout this week.” Tara didn’t even bother trying to keep her disdain from seeping into her tone.

  Capelli turned away from the case board. “Maxwell and Hale are doing surveillance on his club as we speak. Nothing much there, though. He’s only come in a few times since the assault. He stays for a few hours, then heads for home.”

  “He’s lying low, just like we thought he would,” Isabella said. “But he’s clearly desperate not to go to trial, otherwise he never would’ve risked threatening Amour in the first place, and he knows by now that his threat didn’t work.”

  “He should,” Tara agreed. Her only spark of hope right now was that Sansone would get desperate at the realization and slip up. “The trial date is set, and Amour is still on the witness list.” She’d be protected, of course, since she was acting as an informant, and her testimony would be given via closed-circuit video, with her face and voice disguised. “His attorney is a sleazebag, but he’s not stupid. He knows that Amour is my key witness. He also knows that if she was refusing to testify, I’d have reached out to try to cut a deal.”

  Isabella nodded, one hand absently rubbing her belly. “And she’s doing okay?”

  “She’s as well as she can be, under the circumstances.” In truth, Xander was the only person who could get her anywhere close to a smile, and even that was hit or miss.

  “I’ve got some possibles from the tattoo database for her to look at,” Capelli said. “I’m not sure they’ll amount to anything, but one of the detectives can bring them out to review them with her.”

  “I can go this afternoon,” Isabella volunteered.

  “Great,” Tara said, mentally going over her schedule for the rest of the day. “Let me know when you’re going? I’d like to be there with her when she looks over them, as long as that’s okay with you?”

  “Of course. Why don’t I walk you downstairs and we can work out the details?”

  After a handful of goodbyes to the rest of the Intelligence Unit, Tara shouldered her bag and fell into step beside Isabella.

  “I hate that I can’t be on the protection detail for this one,” Isabella grumbled, but Tara shook her head.

  “All the case work is important. It’s probably how we’re going to catch whoever hurt Amour and I’ll need an airtight case to bring the guy in, so you’re helping plenty. Plus”—she smiled—“you’re already kind of on protection detail with this little…”

  “Guy.” Isabella beamed.

  “Oh, a boy! That’s really exciting.”

  They rounded the corner to the precinct lobby, and if Isabella answered her, Tara couldn’t have said. Because Xander stood at the sergeant’s desk, his light green stare intent as he listened to something his partner was telling him, his patrol uniform outlining all of his lean muscles and the hard angles of his body just enough to suggest what they’d feel like if he pulled her close, and holy hell, how was it suddenly a million degrees in here?

  “Oh, but that’s more exciting,” Isabella murmured, calling Tara out with her grin.

  “I, uh.” Eloquent. Real smooth. Oh, screw this. “Yeah. It might be kind of exciting? But it’s not affecting the case at all,” Tara added, worry crowding her chest. “I assure you, keeping Amour safe is our first priority.”

  “What you do on your own time is entirely your business.” Isabella lifted her hands. “I know you’re a good lawyer, just like I know Xander’s a good cop. You’re not breaking any rules, and neither one of you would ever jeopardize a case.”

  As if he’d heard his name across the noisy lobby, Xander looked up, his gaze catching Tara’s and his mouth tugging
up into a smile that moved all the way through her. Her cheeks heated in the best possible way, and she lifted a hand in a small wave.

  Tilting her head, Isabella surprised Tara by asking, “Can I give you a word of advice, friend to friend?”

  “Oh.” A pang hit her belly at the word friend. “I, ah. Sure?”

  “Xander is a great guy, but he’s not without ghosts. Do yourself a favor.” Isabella’s smile grew kind. “If you like him as much as your face says you do, don’t let him hide from you. Because if he likes you as much as his face says he does, he’s going to try.”

  Tara blinked. Granted, less than three weeks had passed since he’d calmed her in that hospital lobby, but they’d been filled with a fast sort of closeness, an unspoken certainty that felt to Tara an awful lot like trust. “You think he’s going to hide from me?”

  “I think he might not know how not to hide some things,” Isabella said. “He had a rough life before he became a cop. Sometimes the past dies hard.”

  Well, shit. She’d already sensed Xander holding back a part of himself, and she was pretty well acquainted with how that worked, now wasn’t she? Speaking of which…

  “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” Hearing the directness of the impulsive thought she’d put to words, Tara’s cheeks prickled. “I apologize. That was—”

  “Accurate,” Isabella finished. Her smile didn’t budge; if anything, it strengthened. “Which is exactly why I’m giving you this advice. I’ve been there before, too. I’m not suggesting you push him—if he’s not ready to talk, he won’t. But I have a feeling he wants to trust you. He might just need you to show him that he can.”

  Looking across the lobby at Xander, Tara realized two things. One was that she did like him as much as Isabella had noticed. Maybe more.

  The other was that she wanted him to trust her with his ghosts. No matter how scary they might be.

  9

  Xander knew he should be focused on whatever Dade was telling him, and in his defense, he’d put his back into the effort. But—also in his defense, thank you very much—Tara was wearing another one of those slim skirts that made his composure want to spontaneously combust, and when she’d locked eyes with him from across the lobby and smiled, the rest of the room, the rest of the city; hell, the rest of the universe didn’t matter.

  In that moment, she was the only person in the world.

  Also, she was headed directly for him.

  “Hey,” Xander said, suddenly wishing he’d done better than the fuck it, good enough route with his hairbrush this morning. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

  “I had a quick meeting with Isabella and the team. I figured you’d be out on patrol, otherwise I’d have mentioned it last night,” Tara said, smiling at him before turning toward Dade. “It’s nice to see you again, Officer Dade.”

  “Glad it’s under better circumstances this time,” Dade replied, her tone strangely devoid of its trademark sarcasm. “You going to throw the book at the son of a bitch who hurt that poor girl?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I most certainly am,” Tara promised. “Speaking of which”—she returned her attention to Xander, and yeah, he felt it everywhere—“Isabella and I are going to meet up later to go over some images on the tattoo database with Amour. Do you want to meet me there?”

  Xander nodded. “Absolutely. I promised her I’d check in after my shift, anyway.”

  “I know she’ll be happy to see you, and if you’re there when she reviews the photo arrays, it saves me from having to get you up to speed later. I’ll text you when I leave the office?”

  “Sure, that sounds great.”

  “Okay, it’s a date. You two stay safe out there,” she said, giving up one last smile before she turned toward the front door. She’d barely made it out of earshot before Dade pounced.

  “You’d better start talking, Matthews. And do not insult me by asking ‘about what?’.”

  Ah, hell. Xander should’ve known she wouldn’t have missed the look he and Tara had traded, crowded lobby or no. But his defenses weren’t about to let him get all gabby about it.

  Not that Dade was going to let him out from under the microscope unless he played this just right. He tested the water with, “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

  One black brow arched. “Well, let’s start with you working this case. The Intelligence Unit doesn’t usually ask patrol officers for a whole lot of assistance after a canvas is done.”

  Okaaaay, not the path he’d expected her to take, but… “It was blind luck that Amour trusted me that night in the hospital. She could’ve just as easily shut down, and then Sinclair would have sent me right back here, where I belong.”

  “You’ve been a cop for how long, and you’re still over there believing in blind luck? Please.” Dade snorted. “Do you know the last cop Sinclair plucked off patrol for help with ‘just one case’?”

  “No,” Xander said.

  Of course, Dade did. “It was Hale.”

  Okay, whoa. Addison Hale was one of Intelligence’s brightest and most badass. Not that there were any slackers up there, but still. “I’m not that good.”

  “Dear Lord in heaven, please give me patience with this one,” Dade muttered, shaking her head as she looked up at the lobby ceiling. “Do you think Sinclair is a dumbass?”

  Xander coughed out a laugh that was more surprise than anything else. “God, no.” Around the Thirty-Third, even hinting at it was blasphemy.

  “Then it’s safe to say you don’t think he suffers any fools, especially when it comes to the people who work his cases?”

  Shit. He’d waltzed right into that one. “I’m telling you, this is a one-time thing.”

  “Alright, then,” Dade said, seeming all too happy to switch gears. “What about that?”

  Her gesture to the door that Tara had exited through a few minutes prior made feigning innocence impossible.

  “That’s kind of complicated,” Xander hedged.

  “But you like her,” Dade pressed.

  Xander used all of his energy not to squirm. “Maybe.”

  A less than polite noise crossed Dade’s lips. “Do you know how long I’ve been a cop? Can we dispense with the bullshit for the sake of not insulting me, please?”

  “Okay, yes, I like her,” he said, and funny, the words felt better than they should coming out of his mouth. “She’s brilliant and fierce and funny and beautiful…and totally out of my league.”

  Dade’s smile was strangely at odds with her sigh. “You know, for a smart man, you are awfully stupid.”

  “Okaaaay?” Xander stammered, but Dade just laughed.

  “Did you miss the way she spoke to you about the case you’re working on?”

  Untitled

  He frowned in confusion. “No.”

  “Then you heard her treat you with equality and respect,” Dade led, and okay, so she did have a point.

  “I suppose.”

  “Mmm hmm. And has she ever given you any indication that she thinks she’s out of your league?”

  “Well, no,” Xander said carefully. Not since her office had tried to bring charges against him two years ago, but now that he knew why she was so dedicated? He couldn’t exactly blame her for doing her job, and anyway, he’d earned those charges, fair and fucking square.

  “And please do not tell me you didn’t see the way she looked at you like she wants to have you for Sunday supper,” Dade continued, both brows lifted and her hands on her hips, and Xander’s shock left him by way of a strangled exhale.

  “Dade,” he managed, but she shook her head.

  “Don’t you Dade me when you know I’m right,” she chided. “That moony face you made when you saw that woman makes it damn clear you’ve got it bad for her, and anyone with half a mind can see the feeling is mutual. Now, do yourself a favor, Xander Matthews. Get out of your own way and let her like you.”

  Xander wanted to argue—God, it was right there on the tip o
f his tongue. Yes, the nights he’d spent with Tara over the past week and a half, talking and laughing and kissing, had been some of the best he’d had in…well, he didn’t even know how long. But she had an Ivy League law degree that matched her Ivy League life. She deserved more than a former criminal whose only degree was in Advanced Survival from the shittiest part of Remington, even if he had put that part of his life behind him.

  Somehow, though, the argument rang hollow in his head. He had put that part of his life behind him, and he’d busted his ass for two years to do it. He wasn’t perfect. He had the literal scars to prove it. But not only did Tara not seem to care, she also seemed to really like him, just as he was. Because of who he was.

  So Xander had no choice but to look at Dade and offer up a smile and say what he always did.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, that didn’t go the way I’d hoped.”

  Tara sat back on Xander’s couch and tried to find a silver lining from the ninety minutes they’d spent looking through photo after photo with Amour, only to have the poor girl come up apologetically empty.

  Nope. There was no way around it. She’d been hoping for a slam-dunk, and the fact that they hadn’t even come close? Flat-out sucked.

  As if he’d zeroed in on her thoughts, Xander said, “I know this sucks. But we knew getting a hit off that tattoo was a long shot, and the case against Sansone is still strong. The closer we get to the trial, the more he’ll realize he’s in trouble because he hasn’t scared Amour from testifying. He’ll get desperate and screw up. And when he does, we’ll be there to take him down.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” It was a risk, tempting Sansone into brashness—not to mention dangerous. But the Intelligence Unit had Amour under no less than a dozen safeguards, and half the time, Xander was literally down the hall from her on top of that. The chances that Sansone would find her, let alone hurt her and get away with it, were practically nil.