Skin Deep (5 page)

“Okay. So the lock box was over here.” Isabella’s footsteps echoed over the floor, the beam of her flashlight sweeping the interior of the open closet. “Now let’s see what the rest of the room will give us.”

She’d taken the box and its contents as potential evidence the other day, carefully cataloguing the photographs and the jewelry as she’d struggled to find a lead. But there had to be something here, some small shred left behind that would springboard her out of this room and onto the right path. Moving to the center of the musty space, Isabella pulled a pair of nitrile gloves over her hands before bending down low to open the bottom drawer of the desk.

To her surprise, Walker knelt next to her. “So there weren’t any hits on these women online? No facial recognition or image matching that might be geotagged?”

Just like that, her surprise doubled down. “No.”

The word came out as more of a question than anything else, and he answered it with a quirk of his lips. “My buddy Devon works private security for that new firm over on Lincoln Avenue. I’ve got some experience with surveillance equipment, so sometimes he lets me freelance to learn new stuff. Dev’s company has got some pretty cutting edge tech.”

Ah, right, Devon. The guy who’d been traveling with Kylie when they’d gone to take her into custody in Chicago. Guess he’d relocated to Remington along with Walker’s sister. They’d definitely seemed like a couple, so the news wasn’t exactly earth-shaking.

“The angle of the photos made recognition software pretty useless, and the images don’t match any online databases the RPD can access,” Isabella said, closing the empty desk drawer and opening the one above it. Damn. More nada. “Whoever took them knows what the hell he’s doing.”

“Or she,” Walker pointed out, and okay, she’d give him this. He didn’t have two left feet when it came to the investigation dance.

Still. “While it’s possible our guy might not be a guy, sex crimes are overwhelmingly male on female. Especially when it comes to forced prostitution.”

He lifted his chin in a brief nod of concession. “Have you got anything to go on other than the stuff that was in the lock box?”

Isabella hesitated. Sharing case details on unsolved crimes was a strict don’t-even-think-about-it for anyone in the intelligence unit. But this wasn’t technically a case, and what’s more, she was pretty fucking desperate to make it one. She and Walker might not like each other, but he clearly wasn’t an idiot. How much damage could a little disclosure do?

She said, “No, and even the evidence I’ve got is running me into a wall. The rope is the most popular brand sold, available at any hardware store or mega-center. There weren’t any useable fingerprints on the lock box, the photos or the jewelry, which were all women’s earrings, none of them valuable or uniquely identifiable.”

Walker propped his forearms over his denim-covered thighs, his dark brows tucked in obvious thought. “How about the desk, or the closet doors? Could you get prints off that, maybe?”

If only
. “I’d need a crime scene unit to process the place in order to find out, which I can’t do without an open investigation. Even then, any prints they’d find in the room would be circumstantial. Who knows how many squatters might’ve been in and out of here in the last five months. Getting from the furniture to the photos is a pretty giant leap.”

“So you’re stuck with whatever you can get to lead you out of this room.”

“Pretty much.” Isabella’s eyes narrowed on the pizza box splayed open over the top of the desk, a spark of hope kicking at her pulse. “Hold on a second.” She pressed to standing, flipping the box closed, and halle-freaking-lujah, finally the ball had bounced in her direction.

“What?” Kellan asked, dropping his gaze as he stood. “Three Brothers Pizza. Isn’t that the place down by the pier?”

“There are a couple of locations around Remington, but yeah, the one by the pier is the closest. This might be a little thin, but I know someone who works there.” She didn’t add that the ‘someone’ was a mouthy former junkie turned CI. The less Walker knew about Carmen, the better.

If his expression was anything to go by, he didn’t need to know more to think Isabella was nuts. “Tying prints from the desk to whoever took those pictures is thin, Moreno. Tying a pizza box to the guy? That’s anorexic.”

Isabella knew he was right. If she went to Sinclair with a pizza box that
might
have belonged to a suspect, he’d laugh her right out of the intelligence office, and give her what-for over returning to the scene without permission while he was at it. But flimsy or not, the pizza box was more than she’d had when she’d walked into the room, so she borrowed Kellan’s cross-armed stance as she fixed him with her very best stare.

“Maybe. But if you think for a second I’m going to back down just because my only lead is a shot in the dark, then clearly, you don’t know me as well as you thought you did.”

K
ellan sat back
on his bar stool at the Crooked Angel, a beer in his hand and his brain waging an epic battle with his dick. Which wouldn’t necessarily be the worst thing in the world if the topic of said battle wasn’t Isabella Moreno and his downstairs head wasn’t winning by a landslide.

Unfortunately for his sanity, Kellan was a big, fat oh-for-two.

Twelve hours had passed since Moreno had given up that bulldog-fierce conviction that he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did, and they hadn’t exchanged more than half a dozen words since they’d left the scene of the fire shortly thereafter. She’d spent most of the ride back to Seventeen reading and responding to a string of text messages—presumably from the person she said she knew from the pizza place—and then offered up a brief but sincere ‘thanks for the favor’ once they’d reached her car. Kellan had headed toward his apartment with every intention of putting the whole morning in his rearview; Moreno’s smart mouth and sleek curves, the photos, the fire scene, the possibility of a lead from that pizza box, all of it. The fact that he hadn’t been able to come within a thousand meters of ditching his thoughts of this morning had been pretty frustrating.

That Isabella had been sitting less than thirty paces away from him for the last half hour and flat-out ignoring him for just as long?

Now
that
was driving him bat-shit crazy.

Flicking a glance across the Crooked Angel’s wood-paneled main dining room, Kellan took in the Thirty-Third’s usual four-top over by the plate glass windows lining the front of the bar. His eyes settled on Moreno, then the detectives she worked with, for just a minute before he let out a heavy breath and placed his beer on the table in front of him.

If you think for a second I’m going to back down…you don’t know me as well as you thought you did…

Kellan’s gut tightened beneath his T-shirt. Yeah, he’d spent the better part of a nonstop week with Moreno after Kylie had called him from Montana three months ago, saying she’d witnessed a brutal murder committed by a thug who ran with dirty cops. Kylie had managed to get as far away as Chicago with the help of Kellan’s Army buddy, Devon. And thank fuck he’d been with her, because even though Moreno’s work to track the scumbag chasing Kylie had been solid, the case had ended in an adrenaline-soaked shootout, courtesy of a filthy agent on the FBI field team Moreno had vouched for. Kellan had trusted her in the beginning—up until everything went pear-shaped, actually—but then all of a sudden, he hadn’t. He couldn’t. Although Kylie had ended up unharmed, she could’ve easily been killed.

But this morning, Moreno had been nothing short of all-in and no holds barred on this case, which begged the question he’d been unable to answer all freaking day.

How well
did
he know Isabella Moreno?

His mind took the rational route, tilting back to their trip to North Point. As much as he wanted to deny it, Kellan had to admit that when they’d been combing the scene of that fire for evidence, she’d been exactly as she had during the bulk of Kylie’s case. Determined. Capable. Smart.

Don’t forget sexy
, came a voice that sounded suspiciously like his mutinous dick, and okay, he officially needed to get laid. Nothing else explained the insanity of his current preoccupation with Moreno’s curves
or
her tenacity. So she’d grabbed the case in front of her this morning with both hands. So what? She’d still made a horrible mistake not vetting Collins’s field team three months ago. It had still been her judgment call that had put Kylie’s life in danger.

Kellan still could’ve lost the only family he had, the sister he’d sworn to look after.

And Kylie was the only person keeping his feet on the ground. Even if she didn’t know it.

“Hey, there you are! Why are you hiding all the way over here?” A partly stern, mostly teasing voice popped him back to the Crooked Angel, tugging the edges of his mouth into the world’s most ironic smile. Speak of the devil had nothing on his little sister.

“I’m in the middle of the best bar in the city on a Friday night,” Kellan said, sliding off his padded leather bar stool. “I’d hardly call that hiding.”

He refocused his gaze over the dimly lit space as he reached down to fold Kylie into a quick hug. He’d chosen this out of the way spot on the periphery of the Crooked Angel’s main room for the dark and private aspect, so he could put his back to the wood-paneled wall and get lost in thought for just a minute. Apparently he’d gotten a little
too
lost if he hadn’t seen his sister make her way into the bar, and wasn’t that all the more reason to forget Isabella Moreno’s sassy mouth and sexy body and move the hell on?

“Hmm.” Kylie’s bright blue stare traveled over him with scrutiny, her frown telling him that his response had her far from convinced. “Then how come you’re not hanging out with everyone from Seventeen? Normally you guys are all knee deep in nine-ball and trash talk by now.”

She gestured toward the back of the Crooked Angel, where more than half the men and women on A-shift were drinking beer and shooting pool in the alcove by the emergency exit. Leave it to a bunch of firefighters and paramedics to want to have options out of a place.

“I was,” Kellan said, his gaze taking a lightning-fast trip to Moreno’s table before he constructed an answer that was at least in the same vicinity as the truth. “I just needed to deal with a work thing for a minute.”

Kylie opened her mouth, and if he knew her at all, it was to launch an argument. Thankfully Devon—who was never far from Kylie’s side now if he got a say so—leaned in from beside her to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Babe, I’m going to grab a few beers. What do you think, Walker?” He tipped his nearly-shaved head toward the bottle on the table by Kellan’s hand. “You ready for another?”

Having spent two extended tours with Kellan in the Middle East, Devon knew all too well how strong the urge to decompress could get, just like he and Kellan both knew Kylie would only worry if
she
knew. Troubling her wasn’t on Kellan’s To-Do list, especially over something as stupid as his unexplainable hard-on for a cop he didn’t even like. Clearly, it wasn’t on Devon’s either.

“Sure, man. Thanks.” He slipped Devon a nod to back up the word. Digging deep for a smile, Kellan made sure the gesture reached his eyes as he pushed it over his face and turned his attention back to his sister. “So how’s work? I’m surprised they sprung you from the kitchen on a Friday night.”

Kylie hopped up onto the bar stool across the table from Kellan, her ear to ear grin lighting up her face and half the city, and bingo. Mission accomplished on the subject change.

“I’ve worked six dinner shifts in a row,” she said, although her tone was a three to one ratio of happiness to irritation. “I love training to be a sous chef at Loulou’s, but even I have hard limits. They can suffer without me for a night.”

At her mettle, Kellan’s smile grew ten times less forced. “There’s the girl I know and love.”

“Mmm.” She arched a dark brown brow, but the remnants of her grin made full-on toughness a hard sell. “You’re not just saying that so I’ll come cook for you, are you?”

“I’ll have you know I’m perfectly functional on my own,” he said, picking up the half-empty beer bottle from the polished wood in front of him for a sip.

Ugh, warm
. Kylie made a face that likely matched his, as if she’d tasted something well past its prime, and okay, it was time to find the kill switch on her worry, once and for all.

“Ky, I’m fine. I’m not going to tell you not to come cook for me,” Kellan added, because while he might be stubborn, he also wasn’t an idiot. Kylie could turn boxed mac and cheese into a four-star dish using little more than pantry items and sheer will. “But only do it if you want the kitchen practice, okay?”

“I just worry about you. I know the guys at Seventeen have your back, and that you’re really good at your job, but…” Kylie paused, her silence giving in to the jukebox music on the overhead speakers and the ambient crowd noise around them, and for a second Kellan thought she’d finally let go of the topic.

But then she slid a hand to one denim-covered hip and threw him for a rope-a-dope. “Are you happy?”

His pulse tapped out the Morse code equivalent of
what the fuck
. “What kind of question is that?”

“The serious kind,” Kylie said, which meant there would be serious work involved in getting her to let go of the serious subject, and oh hell. He needed a redirect. Fast.

Kellan amped up his smile, taking direct aim at a playful joke. “I think living with Dev has made you soft.”

“Living with Devon has made me happy,” she corrected, the sparkle in her blue eyes backing up her words a million percent, and something heavy and strange shifted in Kellan’s gut. “Come on,” Kylie continued. “I know you don’t like to talk about your feelings, and normally I don’t push. But don’t you want to find someone eventually?”

Okay, so he wouldn’t mind not waking up alone
every
morning, but… “Does eventually have to be right this minute?”

Apparently it did, because Kylie didn’t blink, not even when Devon reappeared to slide onto the bar stool between them and handed out the fresh beers in his grasp. “No, but when was the last time you went out on a date, hmm?” Kylie pointed her beer bottle at Kellan, her brows up and her determination on full display. “Took a woman to dinner? Had sex?”

Kellan and Devon simultaneously choked on their beers. Devon recovered first. “I get that you guys are tight, babe, but that’s a little, uh. Personal, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t,” she said, leaning back to cross her arms over her chest. “I’m not asking for details, because ew. All I’m saying is there’s more to life than work, especially when your job is intense. You should have someone to share that stuff with, Kellan. It’s not healthy to keep it all bottled up.”

He blew out a breath. As much as he wasn’t a fan of Kylie being worried about him, he got it. Hell, no matter how settled or happy she got, he’d still probably worry about her until he was ninety.

“Look, it might have been”—he did a quick count back, and damn. Time to swerve around that pothole—“a little while since I’ve gone out with anyone, and my job might require me to compartmentalize more than most people. But just because I’m on my own doesn’t mean I’m not happy, or that I’m all Vesuvius over here, waiting for my emotions to explode because I’m not hooking up with someone. I’m perfectly fine. There just isn’t anyone who does it for me right now.”

His gaze moved across the bar completely without his permission, landing on Moreno for just a fraction of a second before he wrestled it away. Christ, going back to the scene of that fire this morning had officially cooked his motherboard.

“Reeeeeeally.” Kylie’s eyes tapered as the corners of her mouth curved into a smile, and shit. Nothing good could come from the look on her face. “What about Detective Moreno?”

Every one of Kellan’s muscles tightened even though he didn’t so much as shift his weight over his bar stool. “What about her?”

“You mean other than the fact that I’d have to be blind to have missed the way you’ve been looking at her?”

“I haven’t been
looking
at her,” he said, and even Devon’s brows lifted in a nonverbal
uh, yeah you have.

Scrapping his argument, Kellan went for tactic number two: distraction. “Come on, Kylie. Are you really forgetting that Moreno put your life at risk three months ago?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake.” Kylie rolled her blue eyes sky high and slapped the tabletop in front of her. “Xavier Fagan put my life at risk by chasing me halfway across the country and holding me at gunpoint. Isabella wanted to help me as much as you did.”

A muscle ticked along Devon’s clean-shaven jaw, his stare going hard around the edges. “I don’t know, Kylie. Your brother’s kind of got a point. Moreno might not have been the cop on the take, but your life was definitely on the line because of a dirty agent on Collins’s field team. She did vouch for them.”

“You’re a pair of Neanderthals, I swear to God.” At their twin looks of are-you-kidding-me, Kylie lifted a hand. “Look, I’m not saying there wasn’t any danger. We all know there was. But I
am
saying Isabella didn’t have any way of knowing that guy on Collins’s team was secretly on Fagan’s payroll, and she went above and beyond on my case. In fact”—she paused, her smile doubling as she looked first at Kellan, then at Isabella across the room—“I can prove it.”

Without another word, Kylie placed her beer on the cafe table between them and turned on her heel to march through the heavily populated bar.

Dread crowded Kellan’s chest as he watched her move toward the door. “What the hell is she doing?”

“Dude, I have no clue,” Devon said, his hands going up in surrender. “She’s your sister.”

Kellan opened his mouth to pop off with a sarcastic reply, but his words jammed to a halt the second Kylie stopped in front of Isabella’s table.

She wouldn’t. She would
not
.

She totally fucking did.

“I need this like I need a publicly televised prostate exam right now,” he said, his heartbeat dialing up a notch as Kylie led a concerned-looking Isabella across the bar’s packed dining room.

Devon shrugged, not even attempting to hide his smirk. “That’s what you get for staring at Moreno like you want to get her naked. Don’t even bother trying to bullshit me,” he added as Kellan started to launch a protest. “I saw how you were looking at her when we walked in here, too.”

“I had to work with her on a case this morning. That’s all.” Seriously. This was above and beyond, even for Kylie.

“If you say so,” came the reply from the side of Devon’s mouth, but before Kellan could say another word—or better yet, make any sort of a non-obvious exit—Kylie arrived back at the table with Isabella right behind her.

“Oh.” Moreno’s chest lifted on a clearly surprised inhale as her eyes locked with his, and spectacular. Now Kellan had to deal with his conscience
and
his cock. “I thought you said you had a question about your case, Kylie.”