Jaid Black (8 page)

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 he absently ran a hand through his hair. “Do you know what the killer will be wearing?” he heard himself ask, if a bit skeptically. He expected, of course, that the “psychic” would have no answer for that.

Dr. Cox’s cheeks burned red. She must have known he was trying to make her feel unashamed, which she might have appreciated on some level, but she also realized that he didn’t exactly believe her.

“Ye
sss,
” she hissed. “He’ll be wearing a black leather jacket and a black ski mask. I’m not sure how she will be dressed, but her hair is long and flowing.”

Thomas stilled, his muscles clenching. The two angry women were already marching out of the office door, so they hadn’t noticed his reaction. He glanced up at Ben, his mind racing.

“Oh, come on,” Ben snorted, his hands folding across his chest. “Don’t tell me you believe any of that bullshit for a second!”

But then, Ben didn’t yet know about the black leather fiber that had been found on Linda Hughes’s body.

Thomas frowned as he stared at the empty seats the women had vacated. Had Dr. Kimberly Cox had an actual “out there” experience?

Or had she made a lucky guess?

 

 

“What a waste of time!” Nikki half yelled and half
growled.

Kim frowned, throwing her an
I-told-you-so
look. Not that Nikki could see it: her concentration was fixed on the road, visible through the windshield of the Mercedes.

“What an arrogant jerk!” Nikki continued on. “I wanted to smack that attitude right off of his face!”

“Yeah, I know. That Ben O’Rourke guy was a real asshole.”

“Ben O’Rourke?” Nikki glanced over to Kim then back to the road. “I was talking about Detective Cavanah.” She grimaced. “Men like him are so irritating! They think they know it all.”

Kim conceded to that point. “Yep. He’s another jerk. Not nearly as big of a jerk as that Neanderthal in his office, though.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Was there something familiar about that guy to you?”

“Who? Ben O’Rourke?”

“Yeah.” Kim frowned. “I feel like I’ve seen him someplace before, only I can’t place where.”

“I can. The jerk is always hanging around the hospital. If he’s not getting patched up from some brawl or another he himself was in, then he’s escorting detainees in for treatment.”

“Oh.” Kim thought that over for a second. “I guess that must be it, then. Maybe I saw him one of the times I went down to Cleveland General to pick you up for dinner.”

“Maybe.”

Kim sighed. “I just hope I never run into him again.” She shook her head. “And I pray those two detectives are, if nothing else, discreet. I don’t want what we did today getting around.”

“I feel sorry for the women that end up with those two arrogant asses,” Nikki seethed. “Did you notice neither of them wore wedding rings?” She harrumphed. “Well surprise, surprise! Who would have them?”

Kim chuckled at that. “Hey. You and I are still single, too. Please don’t equate a lack of nuptials to a lack of character.”

Nikki grinned, her good humor restored a tad. “Point taken.” She shook her head, her expression turning serious. “I’m sorry I pressed you into that, Kimmie. Those cops were real jerks to you, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“Nik,” Kim said softly. “It’s not your fault. Besides, I was expecting it.” Her eyebrows rose. She glanced over at Nikki, more than eager to put the morning’s events behind them. “You feel like crêpes?”

Nikki smiled, ready to forget their less-than-pleasant experience at the CPD. Regardless of what Kim said, Nikki still wished she hadn’t pushed her friend into the situation. But, she conceded, what was done was done. “Sounds good.”

Chapter 7

Tuesday, July 15 3:15 P·M·

Peanuts, walnuts, almonds, Nikki mentally grumbled. Everything but pistachios
. She grunted as she pushed the shopping cart another three feet, stopping before a second display of nuts at the local grocery store. “Ah,” she muttered, “here we go.”

There was only one carton of pistachios left, she noted with a frown. She didn’t want to have to return to the store for another shopping expedition anytime soon, but one carton wasn’t liable to get her through one week, let alone two!

Pistachio ice cream, pistachio pudding, pistachio anything—her favorite indulgence. Rarely did she whip up a dessert that didn’t somehow feature pistachios in it. Kim had teased her about that fact back when they’d shared an apartment in Cambridge. Many a night her best friend had good-naturedly complained that if she was fed any more pistachios she’d probably grow a shell.

“Where the hell are the pistachios?” a deep male voice growled, forcing Nikki’s attention two nut displays over. Her eyebrows rose as she watched the man verbally castigate an unsuspecting stock boy, and then narrowed when she realized just who the horrid male customer was.

Her lips pinched together disapprovingly. Too bad Detective Grouch was such an ass, she thought grimly. It was a shame when a fellow pistachio connoisseur was also a first-rate jerk.

Detective Cavanah apparently shopped at the same grocery store Nikki did. The football jersey and sweats he wore declared him off duty, as did the lack of a gun holster. But somehow the officer looked even more dangerous in his street clothes, she decided. Perhaps because it was easier to see just how heavily muscled he was all over, from his vein-roped arms to his solid chest to his powerful thighs.

“The pistachios,” the stock boy replied undaunted, “were moved over to make room for the walnut-and-almond display.”

“Walnuts and almonds, walnuts and almonds.” The grouch rolled his eyes. “I don’t want that girly food. What does a man have to go through these days to find a basic pistachio?”

The stock boy frowned, finally somewhat exasperated. “He has to walk two displays over. Somehow, I think you’ll survive the grueling trip.”

The grouch muttered something under his breath about smart-ass teenagers as he stomped off, prowling in Nikki’s direction. The detective glanced up just then, his body momentarily stilling when his gaze clashed with hers and comprehension of who she was dawned.

His dark eyes narrowed a bit, leisurely raking over her face, and then down lower to her breasts. His gaze paused there a lingering moment before slowly returning to her face.

A tremor of awareness coursed through Nikki, causing her heart to beat in a strange way. It was an awareness she recognized, but one she couldn’t explain. Nor was it one she wished to analyze or dwell upon.

She frowned. Vein-roped arms or not, Thomas Cavanah was and, as far as she was concerned, always would be, a first-rate jerk. She picked up the last carton of pistachios and held onto it for dear life.

The grouch studied her quizzically for a moment or two, wondering at her actions. Finally he glanced down and, noticing that she’d managed to snatch the very last carton of pistachios, scowled. “What the hell?” he muttered.

Her spine straightened, her posture defensive. “I believe this just isn’t your day,” she sniffed. “I guess you’ll have to go to Howard’s down the street and try to find some pistachios there.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “I just came from Howard’s,” he bit out, his tone even surlier than it had been. “They’re out of pistachios, too.” He grunted. “You’re just doing this to get back at me. Put down my nuts and back away slowly, lady.”

Nikki’s face slightly colored when two strangers glanced up and gave them a bemused look. Her nostrils flared as she cocked her head and glared at her nemesis. “These are
my
nuts,” she hissed challengingly. “Finders keepers. Losers weepers.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I see we passed the third grade,” he growled.

She smiled sweetly—too sweetly. “And I see that you’re leaving here nutless.” She ignored the amused expressions of the passersby as she turned to saunter off.

“Please,” Thomas said, his voice a bit desperate. “Don’t do this.”

A momentary pang of guilt lanced through her. She could, after all, empathize all too well with a fellow pistachio aficionado who was out of his stash. She quickly quelled the emotion, forcing herself to remember that the aficionado in question was also the jerk who had humiliated her friend.

“I wonder what I’ll make with them,” she said tauntingly, turning her head to look at him from over her shoulder. “Ice cream? Pudding?” She tapped a finger against her cheek, pretending to give the question consideration. “Or perhaps I’ll just eat them plain.” A light brown eyebrow shot up. “There’s nothing quite like the sound of popping one from its shell, is there?”

She could have sworn she heard him whimper.

Nikki smiled in satisfaction. “Have a nice day, Detective.” She sauntered off, her hips sashaying, leaving Thomas to stare after her. “It’s a shame,” she said, turning her head to glance at him one last time, “that you are nutless.”

 

 

Thomas stared after Doctor Evil, a bemused expression
on his face. It really was too bad she hated his guts, he thought, watching those hips of hers defiantly swish back and forth. She had a nice . . .

He ran a hand over his five o’clock shadow. Come to think of it, she had a nice lots of things.

Thomas stood there in the middle of the fruit-and-nut aisle, unsubtly appreciating the view of Dr. Adenike’s well-rounded backside until she turned the corner and was out of sight. Blinking, he glanced down, frowning when it again dawned on him that the woman had taken his nuts.

He grunted. For her sake, she better eat those pistachios plain, he silently grumbled. If word got out that she’d made a pudding of his nuts, there’d be hell to pay.

Chapter 8

Tuesday, July 15 7:15 P·M·

What a jerk! she mentally wailed for what had to have
been the tenth time since she’d returned from the grocery store. She frowned, the realization that she’d been thinking about the detective ever since their earlier run-in not settling well. She had other things to think about, other men—one man in particular, she reminded herself. She didn’t need to waste any more of her precious free time considering what a colossal ass Thomas Cavanah was.

Nikki took a deep breath and blew it out as she studied herself in the full-length mirror adjacent to her bedroom’s walk-in closet. She couldn’t remember having ever been this nervous about going on a date before. She felt like she was sixteen again.

But then, she’d never gone out on a date with a man like Richard before, either. A man who knew everything there was to know about her before they’d even met. Her dreams, her hopes, her aspirations . . .

Her fantasies. The ones she’d kept to herself for years before having met her
FallenAngel
.

The only things he didn’t know about her, in fact, were her last name and where she worked. Deciding that some things were better left a secret until they met and she could verify her suppositions about him in real-time, she had carefully omitted from her emails any references to her last name or to Cleveland General.

Nikki closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm her raging nerves. When next she opened them, she gave her looks one last critical assessment.

The spaghetti-strap black dress she wore was thigh-high and semi-low-cut, showing off what were, in her estimation, her two greatest assets in a purely physical sense—her long legs and her full breasts. The dress was classy and chic-looking. Perfect for coffee and conversation at a trendy eatery.