"Last Known Victim" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spindler Erica)7Spencer let himself into his Riverbend cottage. He’d bought his Camaro from John Jr.-older brother number one-when John had gotten married, and this house from Quentin-older brother number two-when he’d gotten hitched. Since he was brother number three in the Malone lineup, he supposed it was his turn to “pass along.” Which was too bad. His brothers had damn good taste-he would miss the largesse. He’d certainly been glad to have this place. Located at the Uptown bend of the Mississippi River, the Riverbend area had been among the twenty percent of the city left high and dry after Katrina. He’d been host to a dozen family members after the storm. And to Stacy Killian, his girlfriend and fellow NOPD detective, whose City Park double had taken on four feet of water. Stacy was the only one still with him. Spencer stepped inside. “I’m home,” he called. “Back here.” He followed the sound of her voice and found her in front of the bathroom mirror, applying makeup. She wore a pair of snug-fitting, low-riding jeans and a small stretchy top that exposed a nearly indecent expanse of her flat belly. “Looking good, Killian.” She met his gaze in the mirror and smiled. He saw that she had lined her eyes with a deep smoky color. “Glad you like.” “Oh, yeah. Not your usual look, but I could grow accustomed.” He crooked his finger. “Come on over here and I’ll show you.” She sauntered over and slid her arms around him. He nuzzled the side of her neck. “Never mind that I’m not going to let you out of the bedroom in that get-up, but… “Sorry, stud.” She rubbed herself against him, teasing. “It’s for my new job.” He cocked an eyebrow, playing along. “New job? You’ve left DIU? Quit the force to move on?” Not so outrageous, considering when he met her she’d quit the Dallas force and moved to New Orleans to go to graduate school. And study English lit. That hadn’t lasted a semester. Truth was, you either were a cop or you weren’t-it wasn’t something you could just give up. Like smoking. Or the bottle. There wasn’t a twelve-step program for reformed cops. Though most days, he thought there should be. “Mmm,” she said. “Moving on to the Bourbon Street Hustle.” The Hustle billed itself as a “gentleman’s club.” Skanky titty bar was a better description, one that catered to tourists, bikers and those who couldn’t afford upscale clubs like Rick’s Cabaret or Temptations. Just a few years ago, Bourbon Street had been dotted with places like the Hustle, but those had become fewer as the high-end, luxurious clubs had appeared on the New Orleans scene. Folks who wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like the Hustle felt comfortable frequenting this new breed of club. Given what was left of the traditional Bourbon Street clubs, the Hustle wasn’t bottom of the barrel, but damn close to it. She kissed him, then stepped away. “Undercover gig. Starts tonight.” He was a cop, she was a cop. She had a job to do and could absolutely take care of herself. But the thought of her down there, looking like He dropped his gaze to her chest. The tops of her breasts spilled out of her tight shirt. She laughed at his expression. “Victoria’s Secret, Wonderbra. Uncomfortable as hell.” She crossed back to the mirror to admire her cleavage. “Bet these babies’ll get me some major tips.” “Grab me a diet Coke. I’ll be out in a minute.” She appeared as he was taking a swallow of his beer-and nearly choked on it. Her short blond hair had been transformed to a long auburn mane. Between the makeup and wig, he wouldn’t recognize her in passing. “I’ve always wanted to be a redhead, now I’ve got the chance.” She grinned and caught the can of soda he tossed her. “This is going to be fun.” Spencer forced himself to focus. He didn’t want her to know he was feeling uncomfortable about this. It just wasn’t cool. “What’s the story?” “We busted a small-time meth dealer. Turns out, he’s the Hustle’s regular bartender. He rolled right over, offered us the name of a big fish.” “And this fish is a regular patron.” “Comes in every night. Apparently he’s got a regular girl there. I’m supposed to get to know her.” “Who’s the guy?” She popped the soda can’s top. “Name’s Marcus Gabrielle. Squeaky clean on paper. He’s a commercial real estate broker. Married with two kids. Lives uptown.” “Wife know about the little hottie?” “Doubt it.” She took a swallow of the soft drink. “According to our informant he manufactures “Who else is in there with you?” “Baxter. And Waldon. Baxter’s tending bar with the guy we busted. Waldon’s playing customer.” Rene Baxter was a solid cop, a small, wiry guy with one of those nondescript faces perfect for undercover work. Waldon was a big doofus who fancied himself an ace detective. And a ladies’ man. Go figure. “You’ll be wired?” “Of course, with the cavalry in a van around the corner.” Before he could ask anything else, she changed the subject. “I heard about City Park. About finding Uncle Sammy’s shield in that grave. I’m sorry.” “How’s Patti?” “I don’t know.” He frowned. “She said all the right things, but I’m worried she’s…” He let the thought trail off. “She’s what?” “When I left tonight, she was still there. Reviewing the Handyman files.” “And?” “And Tony and I are on it. It was after hours. Until we hear back from the coroner’s office, we’re not even certain the Jane Doe is a Handyman victim.” He looked away, then back. “She won’t even consider any other possibilities. In her mind, Sammy was killed by the Handyman. Period.” “If it dead ends, she will. This gives her a ball to run with.” “I know that, it’s just…she hasn’t been the same since Sammy was killed. I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it. She’s changed.” “It’s going to take time,” Stacy said softly. “For all of us.” He knew she referred not only to Sammy’s murder, but the destruction and uncertainty Katrina had wrought. “You’re right. Come here.” He took the can from her hand and set it on the counter, then drew her against him. “I’ll miss you tonight.” “I’ll miss you, too.” She kissed him, then eased away. “My shift starts at nine. I’ve got to go.” He pulled her back into his arms and held her close, a moment too long, a bit too tightly. When he released her, he saw the question in her eyes. “People with a lot to lose fight hard to hold on to it. Don’t forget that, Stacy.” |
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