Water Witch Page 29

  “But I want to know your opinion on Champagne and Cinnamon Sticks.”

  “I think you’re a child and need to go away and leave me alone so I can work.”

  Jake raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Give us a break. It’s the only funny thing about this case.”

  “If I wanted funny, I would have become a comedian. Be serious or go away.”

  Sighing, Jake got out of my seat, picked up the autopsy report, and sat on the edge of my desk. “What are your thoughts about Champagne and Cinnamon Sticks meeting with her brother?”

  “Is there any reason to believe they weren’t just getting together for a cup of coffee and a chat?”

  Dr. Banyerd cleared his throat. “Before you two get too involved, there’s a reason I’m actually here, and not just to bring the autopsy report. I was requested to provide genetic material on Mr. Hamilton for a prenatal paternity test. I thought you would want to know.”

  I grimaced. There was only one reason the coroner would be asked to provide genetic material during autopsy for a prenatal paternity test: someone involved in the case was pregnant, and someone wanted to find out if the baby was his, and I only knew of one potential candidate, and she was fighting for her life in ICU. “Stage of pregnancy?”

  “You’ll have to go through other channels for that information, Agent Johnson.” He shot us a salute and left. I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t start cursing. Snatching my phone from its cradle, I stabbed the extension for my boss.

  On the third ring, she answered, “What is it, Johnson?”

  “Are we going to be able to get a hold of the prenatal paternity test results from the Hamilton case?”

  “I’ll put in the request. Anything else?”

  “Authorization for Dorothy Hamilton’s medical file would be useful in case we need to extend the case. Maryland only has partial coverage under the Unborn Victims of Violence Act.”

  “This case will qualify for federal coverage,” my boss replied. “I’ll get you everything you need. You sound exhausted. If your partner is capable of driving, have him take you home for sleep. If he isn’t, I’ll have someone take you both home.”

  I recognized the no-nonsense tone of my boss’s voice and surrendered with a grimace. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Returning the phone to its cradle, I clacked my teeth and gathered my wallet and badge. “We’ve been ordered to go home and get some sleep, Thomas.”

  “I can drive you home. Six hours enough time for a breather?”

  “It’ll have to do.”

  My phone woke me, and I grabbed for the device, groaning something that may or may not have been my last name.

  “We’ve had a break in the case,” Jake announced.

  I reached for my alarm clock to check the time and woke up again to a rather insistent knocking at my door. It was well enough I’d flopped into bed still dressed. I rolled off the mattress, hit the floor with a thump, and heard the crack of my phone screen dying a terrible death. Cursing, I crawled to my hands and knees, glaring in the direction of my living room.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Grabbing my busted phone with one hand, I staggered to my feet and headed for the door, kicking aside discarded laundry as I went. I unlatched the chain and dead bolt and peeked into the hallway.

  Jake stood outside my apartment, immaculately dressed and so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed I snarled a curse at him. Instead of saying a word, he held out a coffee.

  Narrowing my eyes at the offering, I reached for it, realized I held my broken phone, and dropped it so I could snatch the drink.

  The cell clattered to the floor, and my partner stared at it before arching a brow. “You’re not capable of your five-minute magical changing trick right now, are you?”

  I sipped at the coffee, blinked at him, and stifled a yawn. Had I been thinking, I wouldn’t have opened the door to let him in while my dirty laundry still littered the floor, a consequence of my mad dash out the door last night. Too late to revoke the invitation, I grunted at my stupidity and decided to ignore it.

  Maybe I didn’t like him, but he had brought me coffee. It was a first among my partners. For that, I’d ignore him getting a too close look at my sports bra and… why were there five pairs of underwear littering my living room?

  I really needed to make some time to tidy up my place. At least I’d already put away all evidence of kickboxing in preparation for moving, and my new championship belt still lurked in my duffle bag, safe out of Jake’s sight.

  With a low chuckle, Jake followed me into my apartment. “Get ready. I’ll let the boss know your phone had an accident. What happened to it, anyway?”

  “Fell off the bed.” Coffee still in hand, I stumbled my way into the bathroom, left my drink on the vanity, and grabbed something I hoped was work appropriate out of my closet. If anyone wanted me functional, I needed a cold shower, stat.

  “You dropped it off the bed?”

  I snarled a curse at him and slammed my bathroom door. A cold shower helped wake me up, and I blitzed my way through it, shaking my head in an effort to rid myself of the clinging lethargy only sleep would cure. Five minutes later, paler than normal and shivering, I dried off and shimmied my way into clean clothes, which to my dismay included another skirt.

  Nothing short of burning every last skirt I owned would do. Cursing, I contained my wet hair in a messy bun and stormed out of the bathroom to find Jake standing patiently by the door where I’d left him.

  “Seven minutes. I’m impressed.”

  I hunted down my wallet, badge, and gun, buckled my hip holster into place, and snatched my FBI jacket from my closet. “Vest?”

  “I stole the one from your locker. It’s in the car.”

  Snatching my spare vest, I ditched my blazer jacket and tossed it onto my sofa. Stopping bullets beat looking pretty, and I pulled my FBI wind breaker over the top so I’d at least look official. I really hoped no one asked why I was wearing a skirt, which no longer matched anything I wore. Instead of heels, I grabbed my best pair of black runners.

  I couldn’t remember where I had kicked off my heels, and I didn’t want to waste the time hunting them.

  If anyone wanted me in socks, they’d need to give me time to find a pair—and wash them. I really needed to do my laundry. “What do we have?”

  “Someone spotted a Mazda matching the appearance of the one responsible in the Hamilton shooting, and it’s got what appear to be bullet holes in the side of it. It’s parked outside of an abandoned church in Dundalk. The church is next door to an abandoned factory.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I hate abandoned factories.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  “So that’s all we got? A shot-up Mazda SUV at an abandoned building?”

  “There seem to be ‘odd stains’ on the side that don’t look like mud too.”

  Considering how many times Hamilton had been shot and how close to the curb the spent casings had been, I could easily believe blood spatter had gotten onto the vehicle. “All right. Let’s go have a look, then. Any police presence at the site?”

  “We’re on our own. There’s a three-alarm fire downtown. The Ravens lost their game, and apparently someone thought it would be fun to torch a few cop cars in the resulting fan temper tantrum.” Jake grabbed my blazer jacket from the couch and draped it over his arm before letting himself out of my apartment. “How do you feel about taking your Mustang?”

  “One day, the boss will give us an unmarked car,” I muttered.

  “Hell might freeze over first. How are we supposed to make all the civilians realize we’re actually doing our jobs if they don’t see us coming from a few miles away?”

  “The police do that enough for both of us.” Maybe I wouldn’t have been shot so many times over my career if I’d been running around in an unmarked car. I thought about it.

  Nope. I still would have been shot; it was par for the course when I had to guard my partner’s back and my own. It amazed
me I had survived through so many encounters with bullets. My vest took most of the credit for my survivability, although I liked to think my other precautions helped.

  If we were going to a rougher part of Dundalk, I understood why Jake didn’t offer his personal vehicle; the only one I’d ever seen him in was a newer Jaguar, and it’d catch the eye of every hopeful thief in the area. My Mustang was old, and while its paint was new, no one wanted it. It wasn’t old enough. “Will you even fit?”

  “I’m impressed you can reach the pedals of any vehicle, Agent Johnson. If you can drive, I can manage to squeeze into an aspiring sports car.”

  I scowled at the well-aimed jab. Old Mustangs were sporty. Newer Mustangs were sporty. Mine had missed its calling, failing at being anything other than an oddly shaped muscle car lacking an engine big enough to do more than hit a hundred on a really, really good day.

  If we needed to do a high-speed pursuit, we were screwed. At least I had a portable light and a siren. “Get the light out from under the seat before you get in, else we’ll never be able to reach it around your fat ass,” I muttered as I locked my apartment.

  Jake twisted around in an effort to examine his back. “These pants do make my ass look fat, I suppose.”

  Despite myself, I snorted a laugh.

  We delayed long enough to grab gear out of Jake’s SUV and load it into my Mustang. Sliding behind the wheel, I waited for Jake to buckle up before starting the engine. Maybe my muscle car lacked in the muscle department, but it sounded nice.

  “If you’d gotten the model two years earlier, you could have had a v6 engine.”

  I breathed in and out several times so I wouldn’t kill my partner. “I knew I should have gotten a Mini Cooper.”

  “They’re surprisingly spacious inside. You’ll have to do better than that to prevent me from fitting into your car. Be happy. Not only can you reach the pedals, you understand how to drive a car. It might be faster to walk, though.”

  “Are you being an asshole on purpose, or does it come second nature? If you don’t like my car, walk.”

  “I’m fairly certain my mother regrets not giving me ‘Asshole’ as my middle name.”

  “You’d be better off with it as your first name, so everyone who meets you has advance warning. Perhaps your last name. I could get used to calling you Agent Asshole.” If there was a big fire downtown and unhappy Ravens fans rioting because their team had lost, I’d have to take a roundabout way to escape Baltimore and reach the suburb. “Where’s the factory at?”

  “It’s the old Seagram’s plant. The church backs up to the fence and makes a good way to get in without being too obvious about it.”

  I groaned. I’d been to the Seagram’s plant several times; criminals, teens, arsonists, and God-only-knew who else couldn’t get enough of the place. I’d been inside enough times I didn’t even need a refresher on its layout. Worse, I’d been shot in that blasted building the last two times I’d been there, both grazes. “Someone needs to finish burning that place to the ground.”

  “But it’s such a lovely eyesore.”

  I shot a glare at my partner, decided the only way to deal with him was to remain silent, and headed for Dundalk. With the building’s reputation and our perp’s inclination towards lethal violence, I’d have to keep a close watch on Jake’s back so he wouldn’t end up taking a round in the cursed building too.

  Why couldn’t he have been closer to average height? Six-foot-two inches of lean muscle was a lot of man to protect. My five-foot-one didn’t do a whole lot to protect me from getting shot. We hadn’t been in any high-danger situations yet, mostly thanks to the stiffness in my leg and our boss opting to give us the heavy-duty thinking jobs.

  If we got yet another cold case, we’d be set to open an ice-making business. Instead of complaining about it, I focused on driving so we’d get there in one piece.

  One day, someone would actually get around to redeveloping the Seagram’s plant. The main factory and its auxiliary buildings crumbled, several of the smallest structures left as burnt-out husks from the various arsons over the years. Some had been caused by idiot kids playing around.

  Others had been criminals attempting to destroy evidence. In one such fire, the pair had gotten themselves killed trying to destroy the body of their victim, a vacationing White House employee. No one had ever figured out why the woman had been targeted—or if she’d just been a random victim.

  The FBI was littered with cold cases like hers, and I hoped the Hamilton murder wouldn’t end up another one. Before teaming up with Jake Thomas, I’d taken pride in my higher-than-normal success rate at solving cases. Sighing, I went around the block, located a store a few streets away, and went inside, flashing my badge and notifying the store clerk my Mustang wasn’t to be towed.

  The clerk gulped but nodded, and I headed back to my car, unlocking the trunk so I could dig out my spare ammunition and make sure I had everything I needed.

  Jake chuckled. “You’ve been practicing your scowl, I see.”

  Ignoring him, I checked over my weapon, dumped my FBI-marked jacket in the trunk, and pulled out my dark windbreaker, zipping it up to hide the presence of my bulletproof vest. “Just shut up and make sure you’re ready to go.”

  “I was ready to rumble when I knocked on your door.”

  Of course he had been. At least he wasn’t deadweight in that department. Slamming the trunk closed, I marched in the direction of the abandoned church.

  Jake fell into step beside me. “Radio?”

  I patted my windbreaker pocket, which had my portable radio. “Check.”

  “Gun?”

  “Check.”

  “Badge?”

  “You just watched me flash it in front of that poor kid’s face.”

  “Sorry. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  While I usually needed a few minutes to plan, prepare, and otherwise adapt to a situation, even I had understood we were in a position for things to go south fast. “Our boss is aware we’re here alone, right?”

  “She was the one who suggested we have a look and see if it was anything important, and to call for backup if we found anything of substance. She wants us to earn our paycheck, and since everyone’s busy elsewhere…”

  “Define substance.”

  “Blood spatter on the SUV would be a good start. She’s doubtful we’ll find anything, as there are no reports of anyone having returned fire on the vehicle at the shooting. We’re to get a look around the vehicle, confirm if it’s probable blood spatter, and wait for backup if it looks dangerous.”

  “If it’s the same SUV, could mean there’s more bodies we don’t know about.”

  “That thought had crossed my mind.”

  “Perhaps we should define what counts as dangerous.”

  “I figure if no one is shooting at us and we’re not shooting at anyone, it’s not dangerous.”

  “That sounds reasonable.”

  “If there are bodies, it’s probably dangerous.”

  “That also sounds reasonable.”

  “If anyone has a gun and they’re pointed at either one of us, that also classifies as dangerous.”

  “Reasonable.”

  “If there are women involved, it’s probably dangerous.”

  I glared at him. “Any other pearls of wisdom, asshole?”

  “Hey, you asked.”

  So I had. Sighing, I shook my head and marched in the direction of the abandoned church we’d passed before parking at the convenience store.

  I hated false tip-offs. Whoever had called in the vehicle was either blind or was luring us to the site; the SUV wasn’t a Mazda, it wasn’t silver, and while spatter did cover the side, I had no reason to believe it wasn’t anything other than mud, as it was spread all over the undercarriage, tires, and back too.

  “This is not silver, Jake.”

  “I’m amazed. You know my first name.”

  “All right, Agent Asshole. What do you think?”

&
nbsp; “I think we’ve been duped. It’s hard for an asshole like me to feel remorse, but I do feel a little bad I woke you up now over nothing.”

  “You’re something else. Call it quits and go home?”

  “Let’s pretend it’s silver, it’s a Mazda, and we have a reason to be here. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

  Leveling a glare at him, I considered his words before shifting my gaze to the ivy-choked trees and brush separating the church and the factory. Somewhere in the mess was a fence meant to keep people out of the site, but it wasn’t very effective. “You just want to go into the plant.”

  “I’m the only one in the office who hasn’t been yet.”

  “Search warrant, Jake. We don’t have just cause to go in.”

  With a smug smile, Jake reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. “Search warrant.”

  I really hated the old Seagram’s plant, and I really hated when my easy route of escape from going in was cut off courtesy of the court system, an overeager partner, and our boss, who had to authorize the pursuit of the warrant. “I thought we were here to see if it’s blood spatter—it is not—and call backup if it was. It is not.”

  “At a distance, it looks silver, and the Mazdas look pretty similar to this vehicle. It could be a match. It’s really suspicious. I think we should go have a look.”

  I balled my hands into fists, clenched my teeth, and breathed until I no longer felt like slugging my partner in the jaw. How many men would I be saddled with who suffered from a desperate need to show off and prove something, putting me directly in the line of fire in the process?

  I’d have to guard his back, and there was a lot of man to guard.

  I already regretted leaving the extra magazines in the car, despite not having anywhere convenient to stash them. Sighing, I shrugged and hiked towards the overgrown fence. “Fine. Since you went through all of the trouble of getting a search warrant when you should have been sleeping, we’ll go have a look.”

  “It beats pushing papers around our desk. It could be a lead.”

  Instead of answering, I headed for the factory, angling towards where I remembered one of the younger trees had made short work of the fence, leaving a gap I could duck through without effort. With a smirk, I waited for Jake to figure out how he’d fit into a space too small for him. The early evening gloom cast him in shadows but didn’t mask his scowl. “Cute, Johnson.”