Slow Burn (MM) (3 page)

Lamont chuckled, a great big baritone sound. “Suit yourself. You going for Hard Motherfucker of the Year or something? Because I can tell you right now, I already won that title just for being your partner.”

Brody smiled.

“There it is!” Lamont pointed, laughing even more. “Haven’t seen it in weeks, but I knew your face wasn’t broken.”

Brody gave him the bird.

“I miss you too, man,” said Lamont.

“Yeah.” Brody snorted. “Sure.”

“How much longer before you get back?”

“Another week before desk duty, but it’ll be almost two months before they consider putting me back on active. Screwed myself over perfectly, huh? It’s bullshit, but when I pushed, Captain started sputtering like bad plumbing. I think he likes me being on leave.”

It was Lamont’s turn to fidget with his empty plate. He knew how tough this was on Brody. He tried to make light of it, tried to keep Brody from getting down, but no one knew him like his partner.

“Maybe you’ll heal up quicker than they think. You’re already in better shape than most. You never know. Said you’ve got a good therapist now too, so—”

“
Physical
therapist. Don’t call him a therapist. Makes it sound like I’m getting my head examined. And he’s all right. Better than the last one.” Truth was he seemed pretty damn dedicated to his job, but Brody withheld his approval. Further investigation was required before he went so far as to say he was “good” at his job.

“So what’s new in the zoo?” Brody got down to the other reason he called Lamont for lunch. It was good seeing his partner, but he’d lost touch with the streets and that had to be corrected today. The captain only gave him a high-level PC version of what he was missing. Brody wanted the full unedited.

“You know”—Lamont looked around and shrugged, the telltale sign that he was about to lie—“same old, same old. Nothing going on but the rent.”

“Bullshit,” Brody said again. “What happened? And don’t you lie to me, or I’ll call Felicia.”

“Damn,” Lamont mumbled and leaned in. “That’s low, siccing my wife on me.”

He stalled, so Brody leveled a warning glare at him.

“I didn’t want to say anything with you still…y’know…”

“
Lamont
,” he snapped.

Lamont blurted out four simple words. “The Strangler struck again.”

Brody felt his stomach plummet and land in his already sore knee. “Shit. When?” The question pulled the air from his lungs.

“Last night. I figured you’d seen it in the papers or on the news, and that’s why you wanted to have lunch.”

“No. I…I didn’t see either today. Yet. Save me the trouble.”

“The vic’s another coed, but from Southern College this time. Visiting a friend downtown. On the way back to her friend’s apartment after a party.”

“Shit,” Brody repeated and pushed his plate away, any chance of finishing lunch now long gone. “Different school but still downtown. Same MO?”

“Yep. Wallet gone and strangled by something other than hands. Leather rope. Belt? It’ll be a while before we get lab results.”

“Any other assault?”

“Well…”

Brody perked up.

“She tested positive for fluids, but there was no sign of struggle. We’re thinking on her way back from a party? Maybe she was with someone prior to the attack. Asked around and there was a guy, but no one likes him as a suspect. They got him to test anyway, so they can rule him out.”

Brody ground his teeth together before asking, “You mean brass isn’t automatically jumping on the guy she was with before she got murdered? No full focus on the fucking boyfriend? What a novel fucking idea. And where was Kenny? He have the slightest link to the girl?”

“Easy.” Lamont held up his hands. “I’m just the messenger here.”

“Sorry.” He rubbed at his forehead. Of course this would happen when he was off duty, leaving him unable to do a damn thing but imagine all the ways he’d work this new case and the fact he couldn’t do any of it.

“To answer your question, no. And I think they’re warming up to your theory now since the three vics are totally unrelated.”

“Four,” Brody corrected him. “That’s four victims now.”

Lamont opened his mouth to argue, but one look from Brody and he clamped it shut.

“I hear ya, man. Four.”

Four victims. The names of whom ran through Brody’s head for the rest of the day, the way the images of their faces floated through his mind every night. Jennifer Martin, the first one over ten years ago, Michelle Cortez five years later, Tiffany Rush a few months ago, and now another one.

“What’s her name?” Brody asked.

“Don’t do this. You need to focus on your knee. On getting better.”

“Fuck my knee. Her name, Lamont.”

Lamont glanced over at the people sitting nearest to them and kept his eyes on them as he answered. “Amber. Amber Sloan.”

Brody repeated the name three times in his head so he’d never forget it. The Strangler was escalating, but the victims remained the same. All college girls. All with bright futures. All of it wasted by someone he had yet to stop. The fact that he wasn’t there right now, on the job, finding the bastard responsible, ate him alive.

* * * *

Brody caught his reflection in the window of the PT clinic as he hobbled up.

Hobbled was right. It made him want to throw the crutches through the damn door. He did not have time to be down. He had a case to work.
His
case. The Strangler had always been his case in one way or another.

He was the patrol officer who had found the first victim. Jennifer Martin. Dumped like garbage on the side of a through street. She was his first DB after only a few months on the force. She was far from his last, but fuck if she wasn’t the one he’d never forget.

If he was at least on light duty, he could look at the latest case. Do some interviews. Something. Crutching around like this, on paid leave, he was impotent. An invalid incapable of doing what he did best. The
only
thing he did. Without the job, he had nothing.

“This is bullshit,” he growled as he reached the automatic double doors. An entire waiting room of people turned to stare like he’d kicked in the doors. To hell with them.

This time when he signed in, the lady sent him straight back to the open PT area. Zack sat there waiting, big smile on his tan face as soon as he saw Brody.

Brody wanted to say to hell with him as well. The guy was too nice. No, not nice. Nice wasn’t the right word.

Decent.

“Detective Brody,” Zack said, standing up. There was a lot of him when he stood. Brody didn’t have to look up to many people, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it now, especially given the situation.

“Just calling me Brody will do.”

“Works for me.”

Of course it did.
Everything
probably worked for Zack.

“We’ll get started with the flexibility again. Come on over here.”

Brody could be an ass like before, but it hadn’t worked then and it probably wouldn’t now. He’d tossed out rounds of bad-attitude bullets last time, and Zack said nothing. He’d wanted to; Brody could see it in his eyes. He’d probably had the word
asshole
on silent repeat in his brain the whole session, but he never acted on it. He wasn’t going to take the bait and give Brody the chance to let loose.

Too bad, because today he could use the release. He wanted someone to take the brunt of his wrath for one more girl losing her life, but it shouldn’t be Zack. Besides, if he worked with the guy instead of against, maybe he’d get back on active that much faster.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Brody said. The drive to get back to work felt like ants under his skin.

“You’re telling
me
. So are you going to get over here today or…?” Zack prompted, tapping a pen against his clipboard.

“Hang on. I don’t move as fast as I used to.” Brody crutched over.

Playing cooperative was tricky. Especially with someone like Zack. He wanted to max out his PT and be 110 percent ASAFP. But cooperating meant there was the danger of liking the guy. He had that air about him. That I’m-everybody’s-buddy quality. Brody didn’t need a buddy. Especially not one like Zack.

He reached the platform, and Zack nodded to the crutches.

“Told you today would be sans crutches. Drop ’em and give me ten.”

Brody cut his gaze over and tossed down the crutches. He could do this, and he was not going to give Zack the satisfaction of seeing him wobble.

He banged out ten, albeit slow, knee raises. Then, for spite, he did a couple more.

“Nice.” Zack grinned in a show of perfect, bright white teeth. “Somebody’s been practicing and working hard at home. I approve.”

True. He had. But Brody wasn’t going to be proud that he noticed.

“Okay, hotshot.” Zack walked over to one of the benches. “It’s time to turn the challenge up a notch. Bring it on over here.”

Brody eyed the bench and the ankle weights of different sizes. He could only imagine the kind of fresh hell this was going to be, but if it got him on the job faster—bring it on.

“Come on.” Zack grinned.

He made it a few steps.

“Not without the crutches!” Zack warned.

It was too late. Brody’s knee had already betrayed him.

The pain shot through his left leg, and he lurched right to overcompensate. He was headed south when Zack grabbed him, just in time. He took Brody by the arm, keeping him from stumbling, and tucked himself under to give Brody some leverage.

“Damn, dude, sorry. I meant only stretches without the crutches, not walking. You don’t go anywhere without the crutches. Not until I say it’s okay.”

Brody shifted his weight, uncomfortable with being this close, but there was nowhere for him to go. He could make a fool of himself and end up doing a face or ass plant or he could just hang on to Zack, hard muscles and all, and let him help. He opted for the latter.

“Come on. Hang on to me, and I’ll grab your crutches.”

Brody did exactly that, hanging on to Zack’s arm and shoulder. The guy was built solid, exactly how he looked. Hard, like Brody, but leaner. Leaner and taller.

It was something Brody had noted the moment he’d met the guy. Something he didn’t want to think about.

“Here we go. Don’t hop. Put your weight on me like I’m the crutch.”

He felt like the biggest kind of fool standing on one foot, clinging to a man like Zack. He tried not to cringe at the feel of Zack’s arm beneath his T-shirt, the solid curve of his shoulder. The cringe wasn’t about disgust—at least not at Zack. The cringe came from fear and loathing. Fear that Zack…anyone… might see what Brody thought about this. What he
really
thought about Zack’s sculpted arms or the rest of his tall, athletic build. The loathing was because he needed to focus on more important things. Work. Not some hot guy with great legs.

That was why Brody didn’t think about it. Because if he didn’t think about it, he wouldn’t wonder what Zack felt like underneath his clothes. He wouldn’t imagine his hands, how rough or smooth his touch might be. He wouldn’t question that mouth. Would it be demanding and harsh or giving and soft? He wouldn’t have to be frustrated at himself for wondering or ashamed of his cowardice for doing nothing about it.

Zack bent over, picking up the crutches and, in the process, brushing his ass against Brody’s leg. It only sent his fear into overdrive. That, coupled with feeling completely useless and about as powerful as a bug stuck to the car windshield, made Brody’s ability to play nice snap.

He grabbed at the crutches as soon as they were within reach and moved away from Zack as fast as he could. On crutches it was anything but nonchalant as he wobbled and attempted to find footing.

Zack’s decent-guy, health-care professional instincts leaped into gear, and he steadied Brody with a hand on his shoulder. A large hand with long, capable fingers, warm and tan as the rest of him.

Brody snarled. “I’m not an invalid. I
can
stand. I’ve got standing down to a goddamn art.”

The sting of shock across Zack’s face was satisfying. Temporarily. Then Brody felt like an even bigger asshole.

Zack probably wondered who he’d screwed over to deserve this lunatic patient. But Zack, ever the professional, hid the look and replaced it with a wave of calm.

“Never said you were, Brody. Now, with the crutches, have a seat, and we’ll do ten leg lifts with weights.”

There was no hint of pissed off or like he’d given up. Just straight up and down to business.

Brody figured he owed him an apology, so he gave him twenty.

* * * *

Yep. Brody won most difficult patient he’d ever had. Hands down. Not because of his knee injury but because of the ginormous chip on his shoulder. Second place was still Mrs. Jefferson after her hip replacement. Woman hated everyone and everything, up to and including Zack’s hair. Which was just plain crazy; Zack’s hair was awesome.

“Good work. Keep it going,” he said as Brody hit ten, but the SOB kept going.

Brody took the cake. Zack didn’t know what to expect next. Pissed off one second, working his ass off the next. Improving, then acting like it irritated the hell out of him that he did so. It was dizzying trying to keep up with someone who was all about trying, then shifted to complete asshole with a penchant for trying to provoke, then to—

Brody wiped the sweat at his forehead and swept it into his closely cut hair, making the dark brown almost black.

Zack lost the point he was trying to make with himself. Brody’s hair was fairly awesome also. He shook off the thought.

Brody reached for the towel over the end of the bar and finished wiping his face before frowning up at the clock. The man frowned
a lot.

“We need to hurry this up if I’m going to finish this set today.”

Zack walked up and leaned over the end of the bar, not too close but enough to make note of the way Brody’s left thigh trembled from the effort. Zack reached for the water bottle he’d been carrying around for him. Handing it over, he nodded to the clock. “How about a short break first?”

Brody took the bottle and drank deeply, water running over the day’s worth of stubble and down the angled jaw. Zack blinked and pretended to be fascinated with the wall.