Ash Rising (DEAd Series) (18 page)

“He’s the one?”

The tragic bombing of the apartment building in downtown Toronto figured largely in Salvatore’s case file. The RCMP lost an officer and a number of civilians in the blast, and two other officers had been badly, almost fatally, injured as well. One of them had been then-Corporal Asher Beaulieu.

No wonder he looked like the w
alking wounded. He was. A walking miracle. Inspector Asher Beaulieu. Interesting.

“Salvatore reduced his contact to only a few key players and his sister not long after the bombing—after he found out his personal circle had been infiltrated by the RCMP,” Inspector Blankenship continued. “We hadn’t been sure how involved Gina was in her brother’s operation until you started your op, or how much she had to do with what happened with Beaulieu, but Ash had contact with her the night before it all went down. Hindsight being what it is, he’s sure she knew about the bombing, even if she wasn’t directly involved.”

Where did that put the inspector? Suspect, victim, investigator? Emma’s gaze went to where Beaulieu’s tall figure disappeared through the trees, headed back to where they had parked their cars. “Is he part of this murder investigation? I’ve been working Gina undercover for about nine months, the last six or so pretty close. Haven’t heard her or any of Salvatore’s crew mention him.”

“No. He came with me today because there’s no one else who knew Rico as well—who could identify him right away and without question. Besides, we’d hoped this might give him some closure. The past year and more have been rough. He deserves it.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Emma murmured. She refocused her attention when the lead investigator signaled it was okay for their group to approach the body. “Well, let’s see what we’ve got.”

Later that evening, back in her New York City apartment, Emma spread the file on Commander Peter Davenport’s undercover op out on her bed. The basic information had been part of her investigation where Salvatore’s operations spilled over into the US. After meeting Inspector Beaulieu, curiosity got the better of her.

She had both hard copies and data on flash drives, and she slipped one into her laptop. Scrolling through the menu, she found the tab labeled
Corporal Beaulieu, Asher
and hesitated. Beaulieu had been involved with the Salvatore case, so she had every reason to look at his file. She clicked on the tab, and an appreciative hum rose in her throat as a picture of the young officer appeared on her screen in full regalia, handsome and rakish in his Red Serge. She’d been right to think he’d be stunning in full health. Emma registered a basic, feminine awareness of his unusual good looks but no guilt about the reaction. Who wouldn’t be taken with him?

Scrolling through more pictures, Emma found both official from the department and those from his many RCMP operations. She studied the undercover photographs with interest, particularly the surveillance shots from the Salvatore op. The images showed a carefree charmer with a solid, lean muscular build and quick, charismatic smile, so different from the recalcitrant, dour man she’d met in the clearing.

The more she read through performance reviews and reports, the more she grudgingly admired his style, intelligence, and instincts. He’d been an effective UC with a natural aptitude for the work, drawing in both cop and criminal with his charm. Hospital reports detailed the horrific injuries he’d suffered in the explosion—she’d been right about the back injury and broken bones in his arm as well as his leg—and his long, agonizing recovery. No one could have gone through an ordeal like that and come out unscathed. Beaulieu was damaged goods, in more ways than just physical.

The next file she opened held information on the other casualties of the bombing—Constable Daniel Johnson, deceased, and Constable Andy Fraser, whose injuries included amputation of the left leg at the knee. A long, depressing list held the names of civilians who had been in the building at the time of the blast, but the one that caught her attention was Elizabeth Ladd. The woman had been mentioned in a different file, connected to Inspector Beaulieu. He’d been seeing her before the explosion, during the op. Emma made notes and went back to the photos of Beaulieu.

He really was a spectacular-looking man—or at least, he had been. She recalled his lean face as it had appeared earlier that day, the rigid set of his shoulders, painful gait, and intense blue eyes. He was still gorgeous, but he’d lost the carefree demeanor that seemed so much a part of him before the bombing. She found a surveillance video filmed a week prior to the explosion and watched the tape closely a number of times, studying his mannerisms and attitude, the way he attracted the attention of everyone around him without even being aware of his effect. A few seconds before the tape ended, a small woman approached, the camera filming her from behind. He threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close for a kiss. Emma caught her breath at his brilliant, delighted smile. The woman had to be Elizabeth Ladd. She paused the video, captivated by the expression lighting his face. He looked young, happy, and in love.

Part of the op or personal?
Even Inspector Asher Beaulieu couldn’t be that good an actor. Elizabeth Ladd looked very personal. He’d obviously cared a great deal for the girl. He blamed Salvatore for her death, as well as those of his parents’. That fact would normally put him at the top of their suspect list, but she flipped through reports that proved his alibi for Rico’s estimated time of death. He might have wanted to, but he hadn’t cut Salvatore’s throat and dumped his body in a remote field miles from the RMCP’s Toronto offices. Her job was to help find out who did and, as a result, put an abrupt end to her team’s hard work over the past nine months.

She fell asleep with his graduation photo on her screen and dreamed of him—too thin, too dark, and too intense—stalking her through the forest.

Over the next few weeks, Emma and the joint investigative teams from the US and Canada watched as Rico Salvatore’s operation fell apart without his control and leadership. Gina Salvatore tried to hold her brother’s territory together with Slick’s help, but neither had the experience or ability. Assigned to work with Inspector Blankenship through the RCMP office in Toronto, Emma hoped to resume her undercover role and re-establish contact with Gina.

“You should talk to Ash. He’s got firsthand information. He knew Gina personally when he worked the op.” Jim scrubbed his face with his hands. They’d put in another late night, Emma at a borrowed desk crammed into Jim’s small office.

“Makes sense.” As long as she didn’t make a fool of herself ogling the young and attractive Inspector Beaulieu.

“I’ll set up a meeting.” Jim blew out a breath and blinked blearily at the clock on the wall, then sat back and rubbed his belly “Tomorrow. I’m going to the gym in the morning to work out before I head to the office. Want to meet me?”

“Sure.” All her time was spent either at the station in the cramped space she and Jim shared or her temporary apartment not far from the RCMP offices. She was about to go stir-crazy from lack of exercise.

“Great.” Groaning as he stood, Jim bent to write an address on a scrap of paper. “The Force has a gym a bunch of guys use—and by guys, I mean men and women. Full gym, pool, and a jogging path that meets up with the park trail. Be there about six.”

“AM?” She echoed his groan when he grinned and nodded.

“Suck it up, Justice. Isn’t that what you Americans say? See you at six sharp. In the morning.” He laughed at her expression as he left.

Emma was so not a morning person, but she beat him to the gym the next day despite the early hour. Her tank-style top fit snugly over her sports bra, giving her extra support, but she’d brought a sweatshirt for warmth and cover if they went for a jog. She’d been blessed—or cursed, depending on her mood—with generous curves along with her tall, athletic frame. Her boobs often got in the way, both physically and from appreciative attention.

She garnered quite a bit of that attention as she warmed up on the mats along the back wall of the gym. Jim finally showed up, standing over her with a grin as she stretched her legs.

“What do you want to start with?” He took a boxer’s stance and danced from foot to foot, doing his best
Rocky
imitation. “Punches?”

“I kickbox a little bit.” Big understatement. She was an expert kickboxer.

“Hm.” He stopped his antics, putting his hands on his hips and examining her bare arms and then legs encased in loose cotton pants. “I don’t kick, but I box. And wrestle.”

She stood up and imitated his pose. “How about a free-for-all?”

“You got it.”

They circled each other, grinning, and the other officers in the gym stopped to watch. Jim feinted, and she countered. He rushed her, tried to grab around her torso and immobilize her arms to throw her to the floor. She took advantage of the half-hearted attack by grasping his arm and flipping him through the air. He stared up, dazed, from the flat of his back.

“Come on, Rocky. Let’s try that again.”

He scowled at her, rubbing his shoulder as he stood. “You’re quick.”

She tipped her head and waited. Examining her stance warily, he still didn’t go full force when he rushed her. She sidestepped neatly and placed her leg behind his, then struck his chest so he lost his footing. Jim flew backward to stare at the ceiling again, gasping for air. Hoots and catcalls sounded from the other guys, and he slowly rose to his feet.

“Shut up,” he groused to the crowd. “She’s strong. You’ve done more than just a little kickboxing.”

“Maybe.” She struggled not to laugh. “You’re holding back.”

“Hard to hit a woman,” he admitted, confirming Emma’s suspicions.

“The bad guys don’t feel that way. Come on, show me what you’ve got. I promise I can take it.”

More calls and whistles followed her statement, and Jim shook his head in grudging admiration. “Okay, but remember, you asked for it.”

“Bring it,” she taunted. “That’s another thing we say in America.”

When he came at her next, he showed a lot more determination. Emma settled into her zone, concentrating, calculating, her body responding. She wouldn’t be an easy target, not for Jim or anyone else who tried to take her. He wasn’t bad, maybe a little out of shape, but she had to be careful of his superior size, reach, and strength. They wrestled and struck, and he did a good job with his kicks despite protests he’d never kickboxed. His shirt darkened with sweat and his face flushed red, but his advantage of size and weight eventually got the best of her.

Caught up in the action and the challenge, Jim grabbed her arm, flipped her over his shoulder as he pivoted and turned, and slammed her down on the mat. She’d seen the move a fraction too late to avoid but soon enough to protect herself. Stars swam across her vision for only a few seconds as she sprawled on her back and waited for the breath to trickle back into her lungs.

“I refuse to let you make me feel bad,” Jim panted, bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees. “You told me to come at you—to forget you’re a woman. Damn it. You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. Nice takedown.” Emma rolled to her feet to prove her words, startled at the amount of spectators crowding their mat.

She got a nice round of applause and bowed, nodding in thanks when someone threw her a towel. Wiping her face and neck, she stepped out of the way when Jim fell into a heap at her feet.