Hard as It Gets (10 page)

“Probably. We’ll get you squared away. Don’t you worry about it.”

“Thank you. And I get off at three, so I’ll be able to help you later.” Despite the morning rush, they sailed crosstown on Lombard, arriving at the hospital in what seemed like no time at all. “Drop me off anywhere,” she said.

He pulled to the curb. “Pick you up at three, then?”

She blinked at him. “If you’re gonna be at my house this afternoon already, I’ll just take the bus home. It’s what I usually do anyway.”

Nick frowned, like he disapproved, but then nodded. “You sure?”

She gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll be home by four at the latest.”

“Good. Let me see your phone.” He made quick work of adding his info to her contacts and calling his phone from hers so he had her number, too. “Call me if you need me before then.”

“Okay.” She handed him her keys, opened the door, and got out, then stuck her head back in. “Thanks for everything, Nick.” At least if she had to be at work, she could take comfort knowing he was out there working on Charlie’s behalf until she got off.

“Hey, Becca?” he called right before she closed the door. She leaned back in. “Be careful.”

“I will. Thanks.” She closed the door and threaded through the stream of pedestrians toward the hospital’s tall glass entrance. At the door, she glanced back. Nick sat in his car at the curb, watching her. And the fact that he was still there blew away some of the cobwebs of loneliness that hung here and there inside her. She wasn’t in this alone. She and Nick were in this together. Gratitude made her smile and wave. And then she pushed through the doors into the chaos of the emergency department.

Chapter 9

R
ixey knocked softly on the doorjamb and leaned a shoulder against the wood.

Phone braced between his ear and his shoulder, Miguel Olivero looked up with a smile and waved him in, then lifted a finger in a just-a-minute gesture. His salt-and-pepper hair revealed his sixties-ish age, but he was so animated—his expressions, his gestures, his volume—that you never thought of him as an old man.

Dragging the chair to the left so his back wouldn’t be to the door, Rixey dropped his ass onto the pleather and scanned his gaze around the office space that probably hadn’t been fashionable when it was new in the 1980s. The dark wood paneling made it feel like the walls were closing in, bug carcasses collected in the rectangular fluorescent light fixtures above their heads, and the veneer of the particleboard office furniture had peeled off here and there, exposing the pressed yellow wood beneath. But Rixey still liked visiting here because of the man behind the desk.

Miguel slammed the receiver back in its cradle. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he boomed with his usual over-the-top joviality. “How the hell are ya, kid?”

Rixey couldn’t help but smile around the guy. “Same old, same old.”

“How’s work?” Miguel said, tugging the knot of his striped tie loose like it was strangling him.

“Keeping me busy.” Rixey had met Miguel through the man’s nephew, who was one of Jeremy’s regulars. As a former cop and private investigator, Olivero had a lot of contacts in the law enforcement world, and he’d hooked Rixey up with the process serving gig nearly a year ago. Now the man had become something of a friend.

“How’s the back?” he said, firing through his usual list of catching-up questions.

“About as good as it’s gonna get, probably. But fine.” It was close enough to the truth, and griping about it just reminded Nick he wasn’t the man he used to be.

Miguel’s bushy eyebrows slashed down. “Bah. Still doing PT? Don’t let them docs throw you out before you’re ready.”

Rixey gave a small smile. “Don’t worry. I’m taking care of myself.”

“Y’better. How’s your brother?”

“He’s good. Got a good head on his shoulders. What’s new with you?” Nick asked, hoping to shift the focus away from the soup sandwich his life had become.

Miguel leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over the swell of his stomach with a satisfied smile. “My son’s making me a grandfather again.”

Rixey sat forward. “Congratulations. That’s great news.” He ignored the small ache that planted itself in his chest. As twisted up inside as the last year had left him, he wasn’t sure he’d ever have that for himself. And, if by some act of God he did, he’d never be able to see his father’s pride in becoming a grandfather.

“Yeah. Number three. Nothing new with me, though. Insurance fraud, adultery, tracking down deadbeats. You know how it is. Eh.” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “So, what is it you need help with?”

“A friend of mine’s in trouble. Her brother is missing. Took off or taken, we don’t know yet. But his house was tossed. Then, last night, someone broke into her place, too. Seems like someone’s looking for something. But she’s got no clue.”

Olivero’s whole face frowned. “Police doing anything?”

Nick shrugged. “Reports filed. Nothing stolen that we can tell. Got any thoughts on where and how to start tracking him down?”

Miguel rubbed his jaw. “Wonder if the police pulled any prints. Hmm. I’ll call my guy and see if I can get a copy of whatever they’ve gathered so far. Beyond that, start at the scene and work out. Interview neighbors, take the brother’s picture around, go to any frequent hangouts, check his credit card statements. How time sensitive is all this?”

Similar approach as the skip tracing Rixey sometimes did to serve papers, though that was predicated on the idea that the person disappeared himself, rather than being taken against his will. Either option seemed viable here until ruled out, but Rixey hoped for Becca’s sake that Charlie had just gotten a scare and gone to ground. “Moderate to high. Becca’s pretty upset, as you can imagine.”

“Becca’s the friend, I take it?” Mischief danced in Miguel’s brown eyes.

Chuffing out a laugh, Rixey shook his head. “Yes, she’s the friend.” Although maybe that was too strong a word. Only circumstance and a dead man had brought them together, so it was doubtful they’d be hanging when they got this mess sorted out. A boulder of pressure settled itself on his chest, but Rixey refused to examine that sense of constriction too closely. It had started when she’d asked about returning to her house, then gotten heavier when he’d had to leave her at the hospital unprotected.

“Let me talk to my contact at BPD. That’ll probably give us the best starting point.”

Nick nodded. “Thanks. One other thing. I wondered if I could borrow some equipment to sweep her house for electronic surveillance devices. I’m meeting a locksmith over there in about an hour, so I could kill two birds with one stone if I could borrow it this afternoon.”

Miguel steepled his fingers. “Where does she live?”

“A block off Patterson Park.”

“I’ll do ya one better,” Miguel said, sitting up and placing his arms on top of the desk blotter. “I’ll come with ya. I could use some fresh air. Two pair of hands can sweep a house faster than one.”

It was just like him to offer. “I’m gonna take you up on that.”

Miguel slapped his hands on the desk. “Good. We’re gonna make a full-blown PI out of you before it’s all said and done.” He winked, and Nick gave a rueful smile. Miguel had been after him about this for a few months, but he couldn’t help feeling like it was something else he’d fall into, rather than choosing it for himself.

Forty-five minutes later, Rixey pulled onto Becca’s street, Miguel following behind in his nondescript dark sedan—affectionately known as the stakeoutmobile. They parked, and Rixey met Miguel at his trunk.

Three pieces of equipment sat within. A briefcase-sized plastic box held a non linear junction detector, which looked a lot like the metal detectors people used at the beach and could sense radio signals or transmitters inside walls, baseboards, and ceilings. A smaller case held an electronic field detector, a handheld device that identified audio and video signals. The third kit held a thermal imager that could read heat signatures thrown off by electronics hidden in walls and ceilings. Olivero had other pieces for cases specifically focused on countersurveillance, but he thought these would likely do the job. And Rixey trusted his judgment.

Rixey retrieved all three cases into his arms.

“You don’t have to be such a hotshot,” Miguel said, slamming the trunk with a wink.

“The grunt work’s the least I can do.” Nick led their way to Becca’s front door.

“Let’s put the stuff inside and then we’ll do an exterior sweep to start.”

Nodding, Rixey fished the keys from his pocket. Finding the right one took him a few tries, but then the key finally turned and he pushed the door open. He stepped back to let Miguel through.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God.”

Frowning, Rixey stepped into the little foyer behind him. “Sonofafuck.” Brazen assholes had come back after all.

The place had been tossed. Nick dropped the cases to the floor and drew his gun. Olivero was right there with him, gun drawn and at the ready. The older man nodded, and they moved in unison to clear the first floor and the small basement.

Making their way back through, Rixey saw that the rear door stood open a crack. He resecured it. Heart thundering in his chest and adrenaline flying through his veins, all Nick could think was
thank fuck
he’d made Becca leave last night. Shit, the thought that she might’ve been there when someone did
this . . .

Drawers dumped out, books knocked off shelves, cushions tossed and torn. Destructive, but about what you’d expect if someone was looking for something. It was the other damage that filled his gut with dread. Pictures and figurines smashed, plants knocked over, the dirt spilled everywhere and then tracked through the carpet. Looked like two, maybe three guys by the different-sized prints. Seemed like a lot of damage for the sake of damage.

Rixey nodded toward the stairs. Weapon at the ready, he leaned into the stairwell, gave a quick looksee, then hightailed it up. A clear sight into the bathroom told him the room directly ahead was clear. He signaled to Miguel to cover him and darted across to Becca’s room.

Jesus.

The floor was a veritable debris field, with clothing and books and jewelry and seashells underfoot. Fuckers had smashed her guitar and emptied out her drawers and closet.

All this damage made no God-given sense. It had taken time and potentially risked the stealth of their actions—and the intent seemed punitive, terroristic. His gut dropped to his boots when he imagined Becca’s reaction. And that he was going to have to be the one to break her heart with the news.

He rejoined Miguel in the hall and made quick work of ascertaining the last room was also clear.

“As a crime scene, this place makes no friggin’ sense, Nick,” Miguel growled, echoing Rixey’s own thoughts as he looked over the disheveled piles of papers covering every surface of Becca’s office. The full weight of Miguel’s gaze lifted to Rixey’s, and the man didn’t have to say a word. This wasn’t any ordinary B&E. And it wasn’t any typical missing persons situation. This was something organized, deadly serious, and royally pissed off, by the looks of this place. Way too much emotion involved in all this destruction to read it any other way.

Becca. Jesus Christ, she was out in the open, completely unprotected—and unsuspecting. “I have to go get Becca.” Nick backed to the door. “I don’t know what this means, but no way I’m letting her take the bus home by herself.”

Miguel nodded. “I’ll stay here and handle this.”

“Locksmith should be here soon. Tell him to install the highest-grade locks on every exterior door,” Rixey said, alarm pounding against the inside of his skull. “Windows, too. I don’t care what it costs. And thank you, Miguel.”

“Go get your girl, son.”

Rixey turned and jogged down the steps, already pulling his phone from his pocket. The crap-ton of
oh shit
parked on his chest made it impossible to analyze what all this meant, how it was all connected. He just couldn’t see the forest for the trees, and he wouldn’t be able to until Becca Merritt was back in his presence and under his protection, safe and sound.

B
ECCA SAT DOWN
on a bench in the small outdoor courtyard with a diet Coke and a pack of peanut butter crackers. Not because she was hungry but because she hoped they would settle the upset stomach she’d had all day.

As she nibbled at a cracker, her gaze traced over the open rectangular space. Surrounded on three sides by the towering hospital, it was a favorite hangout for staff seeking a bit of fresh air and a short reprieve from the demanding pace inside the hospital. Here and there, people filled benches, talked on cell phones, or clustered around the one corner where smoking was permitted.

Just another hour left to go. Which was good, because being at work instead of out looking for Charlie was making her crazy. With everything that was going on, her brain had struggled all day to remain present. And being distracted was always a bad thing to be in the ER.

She cracked open the soda and took a sip. Thank God she didn’t have to stay into the evening. Weekend nights were always the worst. By 5:00 p.m., the crap would really start hitting the fan, but she’d be long gone by then. Maybe Nick would take her to meet his PI friend, or they could go talk to Charlie’s neighbors. She just needed to do
something
. Anything, really. Then later, would she be staying at her house or Nick’s? She’d have thought her preference would’ve been clear, but she found herself thinking about how nice it was to eat dinner with someone, and have somebody with whom to share the day ahead over breakfast.

It had been a long time since she’d had anything close to that in her life. Becca dated occasionally, when she had the time, energy, and inclination—which hadn’t happened often since her father died, truth be told. But even before then, she just hadn’t met anyone who really made her
feel
.

I want to make you hold onto that bag while I bury myself in you so hard and so deep you don’t know your own name.

The erotic promise of his words slammed her into the memory of being pressed against Nick’s body, both of them sweating and breathing hard, the undeniable urge to have him coursing through her, the taste of his skin in her mouth, the strong grip of his hands on her skin. The feelings had been so overwhelming because she’d truly never felt anything that emotionally and physically intoxicating before.

Not until Nick freaking Rixey.

And, God help her, she would’ve entertained Nick’s desires if what he’d said afterward hadn’t overwhelmed her with guilt.

After hours of trying to balance her worry for Charlie against the needs that her unfulfilled arousal demanded, she felt more than a little strung out.

A long yawn rolled out of her, the result of the restless night’s sleep and a crazy day. Around eleven o’clock this morning, someone made the cardinal mistake of saying it looked like a quiet day. Like clockwork, the emergency department got slammed.