Darker Than Any Shadow - By Tina Whittle Page 0,23
off limits, but the office is no longer part of the crime scene. Which makes it and the hall and the parking lot fair game.”
“Fair game for what?”
I ignored the question. “You used to work crime scenes, right?”
“No. I was SWAT.”
“I mean before that, when you were in patrol. You obviously know how to secure a scene, you did it last night.”
“Securing a scene and working a scene are not the same thing.”
“Nonetheless. I still need you.”
“Why?”
“Ah, my sweet, you’re doing that thing you do.”
“Which thing?”
I stuffed my jeans into the hamper and slammed the lid. “I want to know the truth about what’s really going on with those people—Cricket, Jackson, Frankie, Padre, Rico—oh yes, let’s not forget Rico.”
Trey started to say something else, and I cut him off. “I know, I know. Everybody lies. I want to know what they’re lying about.”
Trey looked at me for a long time, dripping wet. “You are aware, of course, that I’m not infallible, especially with people under emotional stress. And all those people—”
“—fit that category, I know. But you’re still the best thing I have to a lie detector.”
“Which is also unreliable in certain circumstances.”
“I’m making do.” I knew I had clean jeans in my drawer and a couple of tee-shirts in my section of the closet. I hoped I’d replenished the underwear. Trey still looked grumpy. I tried to sound reasonable and sweet.
“Come on, I never ask you to do this.”
He shot me a look.
“Okay, hardly ever.” I moved to stand right in front of him, so close I could feel the wet heat rising from his body. “Only when it’s important. And this is important.”
Trey narrowed his eyes and not in that analytical way. In that way that made the blue sharpen and melt at the same time, in that quickening way that was as tactile as a caress.
I put my hands on my hips. “Don’t give me that look. You had your chance last night.”
He cocked his head. “You told me to make flow charts. Then you told me to go to sleep.”
The steam beaded my face, kinking my hair into frizzy corkscrews. I put my arms around his neck, his skin moist and supple beneath my hands.
I looked up at him. “You always do what you’re told?”
“Most of the time. You know that.”
I reached down and grabbed a thick handful of towel.
Chapter Thirteen
Cricket let us in at the front door wearing jean shorts and a dirty tank top. She’d pulled her hair into a pert ponytail, but weariness sagged her eyes and mouth. Jackson was gone, she explained, trying to get things straightened out with the insurance. When she led us inside, her flip-flops thwacked the wet floor.
It was a mess. The last time I’d seen Lupa, it had been a seething clot of soaking, inebriated humanity. Now it was empty and smelled stale and soggy, like a sofa left out in the rain. Fans circulated the air, ice-cold from the AC, which was turned on full blast to suck up the moisture. Towels, dozens of them, covered every flat surface.
“Anything we can do to help?”
I included Trey in this “we,” as if he were there to offer assistance, not function as a secret weapon. Not that Cricket knew about the lie detector in his skull. He and I didn’t share this particular part of his skill set with most people, just like we didn’t share the many ways he could kill people with his bare hands. People knew he was different. They knew it was because of some right frontal lobe damage. They tolerated these oddities and asked zero questions.
She waved a hand around. “It’s mostly getting up the water from the sprinklers. The bathroom is still a crime scene, so you can’t get in there, but it really doesn’t matter because it’s a total loss.”
I picked up a broom and handed it to Trey. Despite my warnings, he’d ditched the casual wear and gone full Armani for the occasion. Nonetheless, he accepted the broom without complaint.
“Where should we start?” he said.
“Pick anywhere. Jackson’s bringing more fans when he comes—that should help. Although with this humidity…”
She shook her head. She was right—it was going to be a hell of a clean-up, and the worst of it wasn’t the damage, it was the time out of commission for a new restaurant.
“Is it all right if I look around?” Trey said.
“Sure. But be careful, this floor is like glass when it’s wet.”