Slow Burn (MM) (24 page)

“I’ll be two minutes.”

Brody hung up and reached for his gun. Clicking off the safety and holding it steady, he waited. Time stretched out like a highway, making each moment tick by, heavy and suffocating. The images flashing through Brody’s mind made waiting hurt like a bitch.

There was a muffled grunt and a
thud.

Brody raised his gun in the direction of the noise.

“Ms. Bathory!” he yelled again.

Silence. What if she had hurt herself or was being attacked? Concern for a citizen was cause enough. Brody shifted to where he could see down the shadowed hallway and pursued.

He heard the faint noise of tires crunching as a car pulled to a stop. The vise on his chest lessened with the knowledge Lamont was here. He flicked his eyes back to see Lamont’s tall frame silently climbing the front stairs. He put his finger to his mouth in silent warning. If this was something bad, he didn’t want her to think he had backup. Put her on the back foot.

Lamont sidled up beside him, gun also drawn. The surge of familiarity and trust bolstered Brody in ways no one besides another cop could ever understand.

“I was questioning her about the girls,” he whispered. “Asked for the TAs’ contacts, and she went into the other room to retrieve them. Been over ten minutes and no response.”

“That way?” Lamont nodded toward the hallway.

“Yeah.” Brody steadied his grip on his GLOCK. “I’ll go, you cover.”

His heart thumped as he moved down the hallway, Lamont in step behind. They methodically and quietly searched the rooms, his clearance tactics running commentary in his mind. Minimize time in the doorway, slice the pie. The house remained quiet, Brody’s ears straining for any movement.

They reached the end room, searched and cleared. Where the fuck was she?

Lamont turned to him from the cupboard with a similar look on his face. “Back door?” he whispered.

There was another
thump
and a grunt, from right above them. Brody moved to the hallway and looked up to see a pull-down access to the attic. He slowly pulled the door down; the ladder was flimsily attached like it was makeshift. It was a steep climb and no light switch, only the flicking of light from the roof exhaust fans.

Fuck it. He was going to have to go up there. He lowered the ladder and cast a look back at Lamont, who only nodded at him, steadying his gun.

He’d barely popped his shoulders through the gap when he felt something slip over his neck and his airway clamped down, literally stealing his breath. He lashed out, hands grabbing the ladder to fight against it, but all it did was tighten the noose. The rope pulled up, tugging him farther into the hole, before his survival instincts gave in and he went with it. The need for air was too great.

His head reeled as the skin at his neck burned. The rope cut into his skin as he was pulled completely into the attic, and he kept thinking,
How?

His calf scraped along a corner as his feet were dragged in. He tried to flip up. The sound of the rope brushing against the wooden eave groaned as the noose grabbed tighter.

She had him leveraged up over…something. He was being choked
up
, and he fought at the rope, trying to loosen it. He managed to roll his body, kicking out with the tip of his foot, but he only rattled the ladder against its perch.

“Brody!”

Brody’s vision rolled as he heard a “Shit!” behind him. His vision dimmed in and out, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he tried to get his fingers underneath the rope.

But his vision wasn’t dim enough to blank out the flash of steel.

He lurched back in time to miss the daggerlike scissors aimed at his chest but not enough to miss the slice of fire through his biceps. She was panicking now; she hadn’t expected Lamont.

To buy Lamont time to get to him, Brody grabbed tighter at the rope around his neck. He took a deep breath, pulled up with his hands, and swung himself back to try to put her off-balance. There was a cry of pain and the rope slackened, just enough for a gasping breath.

Lamont stood over them, voice deep and terrifying. “Drop them! Off the rope! Get on the floor. Now!”

Brody only heard muffled words exchanged as the rope went slack and he fell completely to the ground. He drew in gasping breaths and blinked his eyes to focus, blood rushing to his head as his ears turned back on.

There was moving around, his vision sparkling with the return of air.

“You all right?” Lamont kept his gun on the professor.

Brody blinked, his vision clearing, his neck and chest burning like a motherfucker.

“I’m…” He coughed, his voice sounding awful. “I’m all right.”

“Good.” Lamont quickly tossed Brody his cuffs. “Because there’s no way I’m not letting you have the honors.”

Brody nodded, blinking again as he pushed away the leather rope. He crawled over to the left side of the attic opening, where the professor lay prone. Placing a knee on her back, he snapped the cuffs into place. He felt his strength waning, so he sat, leaning his weight on her. He felt like the noose was still squeezing, so there was no way in hell he was giving her a chance to move. He could hear Lamont’s voice over the radio asking for a unit. Brody looked up as he felt Lamont touch his sliced arm. He couldn’t stop the grimace. She’d gotten him good.

Lamont grabbed at his other hand and pushed it against the wound. “Keep some pressure on it.” He stood back up, requesting an RA, but when he snapped his radio back into place, his eyes widened. “Brody.”

Brody followed his gaze to the back wall of the attic. A map. Pictures, newspaper clippings. A long row of leather ropes, belts, and the most recent girl’s photos from the
Post
and
Courier
.

With the sirens starting to wail in the distance, Brody could only croak out, “Well, fuck me.”

* * * *

Brody swore, gripping the bumper of the ambulance, ready to rip it off with his good arm as the RA officer rinsed the knife wound in his other arm with something that burned like fire.

“Yeah, this’ll need stitches.” She pressed a pad over it and started wrapping. “Do you need a ride?”

Brody shook his head. “I don’t have time. Can’t you just stitch it here?”

The officer looked amused. “Does this look like a hospital to you?” She tightened the bandage. “That arm needs stitching, so either you come with us or get one of your colleagues to drive you.”

“I’ll take him.” Lamont walked up, tilting Brody’s face to look at his neck. “And don’t think about arguing with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He batted Lamont’s hand away.

The RA officer tidied up and left them to it. Lamont watched her go before he sat down. He folded his arms and leaned against the side of the door.

“Damn. I’ve never been gladder in my life to be swept up in one of your shit storms.” There was a long moment of silence; Brody looked up to see the fear in Lamont’s eyes. “You would be dead if you hadn’t called me.”

Brody gingerly touched the burn around his neck. “Yeah. I know.” He would have been. He’d be dead along with every one of those girls.

“Found the latest vic’s info in Bathory’s attic too. She was a friend of her TA’s. I think when you got nosy on the TA lead, that’s when she freaked. Scare a rabid animal into a corner and—”

“They’ll bite.”

“Yep.”

Bite and kill. Dead if he hadn’t heeded the concern of someone who cared. Dead, and who would he have left behind?

Zack.

The emotion that built behind Brody’s eyes sparked hot and painful. He’d have gone out, swept up in a case that had been plaguing him his entire career, and been a dumb-ass. Gone after her alone because he couldn’t let it go. Because he never allowed himself to let it go.

And Zack would have spent the rest of his life not knowing how much he meant, because Brody couldn’t let go of the bullshit jail he’d put himself inside.

His heart pounded with the urgency to find Zack. To wrap his arms around him, hold his tall-ass moose frame, fingers digging into that soft, long hair that almost swept his stupid broad shoulders and feeling warm, sure hands hug him right back.

But he’d been such an asshole. He’d pushed the only good thing in his life right out the door. Because he was scared. Because he couldn’t allow himself something real.

What if he’d lost Zack for good?

The heat burned harder than the wound around his neck. Brody slammed his hand down against the bumper. “
Fuck
!”

He closed his eyes and prayed to every fucking thing out there that he could get Zack back. Somewhere out there, the scales had to be balanced. Surely something deemed him worthy. His mind swirled, pain and loss building a lump in his throat. But a warm, comforting hand landed on his shoulder, brought him back to reality.

“Brody.” Lamont squeezed. “It’s okay. You caught her. You did it. She’d be still out there, plotting her next life to take, and now she won’t. It’s over.”

It grounded him. Only just. “But I fucked up. I should have listened.” His voice was gravelly, the emotion causing his already swollen vocal cords to grate.

There was a fond, good-natured chuckle. “Yeah, well. I can’t say that the captain won’t be pissed, but it’s a good outcome. I don’t think you’ll be in too much shit.” Lamont gave him a little shake, then let go. “At most you’ll get a paid holiday. And man, you
need
it. You look like hell.”

Brody laughed. Forced, but it relieved some of the tension.

“
And
you need to stop getting injured on the job. People will start to think I don’t do anything.”

Brody looked up and caught the glint in Lamont’s eyes as he huffed out another laugh.

“You’ve finally caught the sonuvabitch that’s been plaguing you since you were a fresh-faced probie.” Lamont gestured to Brody’s half-broken body. “So why do you look like you ran over someone’s puppy?”

Startlingly true. Except he’d run over his own puppy.

“Because I fucked up. I mean, I
really
fucked up.”

“Yeah, so you mentioned. And I
told
you, Hill won’t—”

“Not the captain,” he interrupted. How could he explain? “Someone… It’s someone else.”

A dark eyebrow rose. “Someone as in,
someone?
Someone important?”

Only everything that mattered. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Not when it wasn’t guaranteed that Zack would even be his someone back anymore. “Yeah.”

Lamont moved to stand in front of Brody, arms crossed, eyes clearly in interrogation mode. “So who is—”

Brody stopped him with a hand. “I’ll tell you. Take me to fix this shit up first.” He shrugged his wrapped arm. “I have some stuff to sort out, but I
will
tell you. Deal?”

Lamont stared at him a beat longer before nodding and pulling out his keys. “Deal. But only because you’re the walking wounded. Let’s go.”

Chapter Eighteen

Zack tightened the knot on the cleat, pulling the boat in closer to the dock. Like it’d protect
Mary
from unexpectedly sinking in a freak act of nature.

She wouldn’t sink, though. He was pretty sure. No, he was completely sure. He was just freaking out a bit.

Zack stood up straight and shook out his shoulders. He’d spent far too much time checking and rechecking
Mary
. He’d performed all the necessary tests, and she passed swimmingly. She was watertight and just needed him to man up and get in. And actually sail her.

That really vivid dream with him sailing and
Mary
bucking him out into churning seas with sharks had made him have a long conversation with her this morning about fair play. He’d be an awesome captain if she didn’t try to drown him. It was a good deal.

Maybe he might check the sailing checklist again.

If he was honest with himself, he’d accept that he’d been ignoring the world and obsessing over pointless concerns like
Mary’s
safety since his fight with Brody.

It’d been two days, and Zack prided himself on the fact he’d kept his cell off. Not checking it, not even looking at it. Instead he checked and double-checked his boat. Anything was better than reliving that moment. Picking it apart. Worrying over how much of it was Brody’s part and what, if any, role he played in their demise.

For now, he was in Zack-avoidance happy land and fully intended to stay there until the pain of missing Brody didn’t feel like he was dying.

He suspected it’d only take a few hundred years.

He shook his head and refocused. No. It was his last day off, and there was no way in hell he was going to think about Brody. Or acknowledge the aching hole in his chest.

Nope.

He pulled his
My other car is a boat
sailing cap down on his head and checked
Mary
over one last time. Then there’d be nothing left but to untie her and push off into the deep blue yonder.

And then freak out his yonder.

The dock was relatively deserted for a late Friday afternoon that promised a beautiful sunset. A few older guys were setting up their fishing lines at the end of the dock, playing cat and mouse with the seagulls as they baited their hooks. One family ushered their laughing kids and an army of bags down the dock and onto one of the moored boats.

Zack started going through one of his bags, pulling things out, lining them up on the weathered wood, going through his mental checklist one last time. It was peaceful, relaxing. Getting his sail Zen on.

Which was exactly why he nearly dropped his roll of Kevlar tape into the water when two black-leather-shoe-clad feet came to a stop in front of him.

He knew only one person who wore shoes like that.

“Zack.”

It was Brody.

Zack clutched at the bag, taking a deep breath before he looked up. He would be strong. He would not lose it. He would calmly tell Brody he was not interested in anything he had to say. That it was better this way, because neither of them could be the person the other needed.

He slowly raised his eyes, scanning over the well-filled-out pants, the slightly wrinkled undershirt, the recently shaved face, the horrid bruising and burn marks around his—