Extreme Exposure (23 page)

Something strange was going on, as if this weren’t about Michelle at all, but about herself. “You seem to know that already,” she said cautiously.

Fraser’s face hardened. “Yes or no will be fine.”

Somewhere along the line he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves. Veins popped on his ripped arms and the room seemed way too small for that much sweaty manliness. She could practically smell the testosterone.

She looked at Ackerman. “Yes.”

The questions continued like this for several minutes. They asked her when she’d moved to Riverton, what courses she was taking at college. They dropped hints that they knew about her youth record but made no mention of Michelle. She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, tried to think of why they would be harassing her, but came up short. She’d been a good girl. In detective shows, the cops often used clever tactics to interview suspects but she couldn’t figure this out. If it wasn’t about Michelle, what was it? In another minute, she would ask for a phone call. The shelter had to know Michelle was on her own.

Five minutes later, just as Nicky decided it had to be a strange hoax, Fraser said, “Who was the girl?”

Nicky shifted. Here it comes. “Just a kid I met on the street.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Why’d she take off?”

Shrugging, she gave her best version of nonchalant. “She’s shy.”

“Do you realize it’s an offence to run from the cops?”

“I didn’t realize you were a cop.”

Icy eyes narrowing, Fraser shook his head slowly in disbelief. He knew she was lying—and he knew she knew he knew—but she didn’t care. Now didn’t seem a good time to disclose her motto: Rules were made to be broken.

Ackerman said, “Tell me about your family.”

She stiffened, sat forward. “Are they okay? Was there an accident?”

The woman gave a small smile. “They’re fine. We just have some routine questions.”

She sat back, swallowed. Her patience wearing thin, she blew out a breath. “I have a father, James, and a sister. Her name is Karina. She’s five years older.”

The man watched her closely but seemed content to let the woman ask the questions. Ackerman opened a file on the desk in front of her. “Your father is a doctor?”

“That’s correct. He’s a perinatologist. That’s—”

“A specialty for high-risk pregnancies,” Fraser cut in before she could explain. He leaned over, looked at a newspaper clipping. “I see your sister is a nurse. And a concert pianist. Very accomplished.”

You bet, Sherlock. She nodded at the clipping. “That’s probably about her latest recording, one of the Bach concertos.” The local paper went nuts about her sister. They couldn’t resist her fresh-faced good looks. In Riverton, Karina was a superstar. Nicky wasn’t any kind of star. A chronic underachiever is what her father had always called her, not realizing that it would only make her more rebellious.

He brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes, then crossed his arms over his big chest again. Something animalistic about him made a little shiver shoot through her. He should find a way to neuter some of that sexiness.

He said, “And your mother?”

She froze. He waited, eyebrows raised. “What about my mother?” Her voice sounded flat and emotionless even to herself.

Ackerman read from a file. “You last saw your mother, Lisa Bosko, when you were five?”

Managing a nod, she kept her eyes on Ackerman, acutely aware that Fraser watched her like a hawk watched its prey. She took a steadying breath, then another, and tried to think where this was headed. When they didn’t say anything else, she said, “There isn’t much to tell. She took off and I haven’t seen her since.”

He raised an eyebrow and those sharp eyes were on her. “What do you mean, ‘took off’?”

Gripping the chair, she inhaled deeply. What possible justification could they have for asking her these questions? “She walked out of the house one day and we never saw her again. That’s what I mean by ‘took off.’” She glared at him, her dislike growing by the minute.

“Did you see her leave?” This question came from Ackerman.

“No. I came home from school one day and she was gone.” Her fingernails dug into the upholstered arms of the chair. She’s most likely living quite happily somewhere with another family, unless she’d decided to ditch them, too. “Why are you asking me this?” she asked Ackerman, who was the good cop to Fraser’s bad, it seemed.

“We’ll get to that,” she said.

Nicky sat forward, a sour taste in her mouth. An explanation came to her. “Have you found her? Is that it? She wants to meet me?” When they didn’t respond, she shook her head. “Not going to happen.”

The cops exchanged a look but Nicky wasn’t about to try to explain herself. What they thought of her was no concern.

Ackerman said, “So you haven’t seen her in twenty years?”

“Correct. Apparently I was too much to handle.” The words got out before she could catch them.

Ackerman nodded. “We’ve read a transcript of an interview conducted at the time with your father. There was apparently some suggestion you had some behavioral problems that caused difficulty at home.”

She swallowed hard, shot the woman a hard look. “Apparently so. I don’t remember it myself. I suppose I was too busy causing those problems.” A bitter tang rose in her mouth. “Why are you asking this? Did I commit some crime when I was five that you’re interested in?”

Ackerman ignored the question. “Were you interviewed?”

“Again. I don’t remember. I was five.”

Fraser’s jaw hardened even more. “You’re not five now. Have you ever tried to find your mother?” His tone was accusatory.

“Why would I?” They obviously didn’t get it. Her mother clearly didn’t want anything to do with her or her father and sister. “You should be talking to my father.”

“That’s going to be a bit of a challenge. Your father and sister have left the country.”

“Left the country?”

He raised skeptical eyebrows. “You didn’t know?” When she didn’t say anything, he continued, “They’re in Haiti, in a remote area on a relief mission. We’ve been trying to reach them, but the cell phone service is sketchy. They’re not due back for another week.”

She shrugged. That they hadn’t informed her was no surprise. “I can’t help you there.”

Neither of them seemed to believe her, which was natural enough if you weren’t familiar with how her family worked. Her father and sister were tight, always had been, even before her mother left. After her mother disappeared, Nicky became the fifth wheel.

But that was the past. She was over it. Even the resentment—no, hatred—she’d felt toward her mother had softened through the years to a casual indifference. She wasn’t going to explain any of this to them. How somewhere along the line, somewhere between the ages of five and fifteen, she’d realized that her mother had moved on. And Nicky, a rebel but not a masochist, had done the same. Now, her mother’s face was a blur and few memories remained of her early childhood. It helped that her father hadn’t let them so much as mention her mother’s name.

But she was a big girl now. She could look after herself. And she didn’t have to answer any questions about her mother. She picked up her shoulder bag. “I’m not under arrest, am I? I’m free to go at any time?”

The woman said, “There’s one more thing we want to ask you about before you go.” She searched through the folders on her desk, found the one she was looking for and opened it. “Why did you take a DNA test?”

*  *  *

Nicole Bosko was gorgeous. Tall and slim, with a perfect oval face framed by long brown hair. Big brown eyes and high cheekbones that hinted at Slavic ancestry. It was an easy beauty, the kind that might have been spoiled by too much makeup, but she wore little or maybe even none and seemed unaware of the effect of her looks.

Or maybe she was very much aware. Cullen Fraser had no idea.

Good looks aside, one thing he could say for certain: she was a piece of work. Evasive, belligerent. A liar. And altogether too calm for someone being questioned by the police. He couldn’t shake the feeling she was playing with them. The barely perceptible smile of contempt playing on her full lips didn’t help.

Cullen nailed her with a stare. “You heard the question? Why did you take a DNA test?” His voice remained calm only with a conscious effort.

Ignoring him, she glanced at Anna, her brows knitted in confusion. “DNA test?”

Scowling, he grabbed a file from the desk and waved it in front of her. “The DNA test you took under the name of Nola Deveau.” He slammed it down on the desk, stood up, and hovered over her. “You’re not going to deny that, too, are you?”

Pink splotches on her cheeks replaced the sardonic smile. “How do you know about that?”

He clenched his fist, pleased they had finally managed to prick a hole in that tough shell. “I’d say that is the least of your worries.”

“It’s not against the law, is it, to have your DNA mapped? People do it all the time to test for diseases.”

“Just answer the question: why did you take it?” He was aware only when he finished speaking his voice had risen. Anna shot him a warning look. Pressing his lips together, he took some deep breaths, walked over to the metal cabinet, and leaned against it.

Anna said, “The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner you’ll get out of here. Why did you take the test? What were you looking for?”

Bosko squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, opened them. They were dark, the color of deep mahogany, and spaced wide apart. Too wide apart, but they were balanced by a strong chin, and something about them suggested a sharp intelligence.

She said, her tone cold, “I took a genetics course last spring. A couple of us in the class decided to do it. I certainly didn’t have any criminal intent.”

Anna said, “So why did you use an assumed name?”

“Because I didn’t feel comfortable giving a private company access to my genetic information. And I don’t like the fact that you now have it.” Her eyes had gone cold to match her tone. “How did you find out it was me?”

He walked over to the desk, leaned against it, wanting to be in her face. “You weren’t that clever about it. You used the shelter address, so that narrowed it down fairly quickly.”

The pink spots on her face turned red. “That doesn’t explain why you have it. I haven’t left my DNA at any crime scene, as far as I’m aware.”

Cullen watched her closely. It was a good bet she’d had her DNA tested in hopes of tracking down her mother. Why not just admit it? Unless she was in some other kind of trouble. Which was more than possible, given her record.

He said, “You still haven’t told us why you ran. If you’ve gotten yourself into some little thing, just tell us. We’re not interested.”

A look of vulnerability flashed in her eyes then quickly disappeared. “It would help if you would tell me what exactly you
are
interested in.”

He exchanged a glance with Anna, who stood up. She addressed Bosko, “Would you like some coffee?” When Bosko nodded, Anna motioned for him to follow her.

In the kitchen, Anna filled three mugs with coffee, then turned to him, hands on her hips. “This is going nowhere. We’re wasting time.”

“She’s lying.”

She raised her eyebrows in answer.

He said, “Why’d she run, then?”

She gave him a soft punch in the shoulder. “Maybe she just didn’t like the looks of you.”

He frowned. “I don’t give a shit whether she likes me or not.”

“She sure has figured out how to push your buttons.”

Rolling his eyes, he decided to ignore the comment. It seemed too close to the truth. “What if she had something to do with her mother’s disappearance? It’s obvious she doesn’t give a shit about her mother. And it sounded like she was a hell-raiser as a kid.”

“You think she was an evil five-year-old who plotted to get rid of her mother? Why? So she could have her daddy all to herself?”

He took a sip of coffee, grimaced at the bitter taste. “Maybe she saw something. Maybe she’s protecting someone. It could be her father. It’s obvious she’s hiding something. We have to find out what that is.”

Anna considered this for a moment, then nodded. “A few more questions, then we have to tell her.” She grabbed his arm as he was about to walk away. “I’m sorry about Marlee.”

His breath caught. “I suppose that’s all over the squad room.” His girlfriend of three years, a television news reporter, had told him two days ago she was leaving him for another cop. They had talked about getting married, settling down. Now he was left wondering how long she’d been seeing the other cop behind his back. “Fuck it,” he said.

When they got back to the room, he handed Bosko a mug. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, then took a sip.

Anna said, “Sorry, it’s pretty foul.”

Bosko made no reaction. She waited until Anna had sat down, then said, “Why don’t you just tell me what this is about? Has my mother gone missing again? Is her new family looking for her?”

He clenched his fists at her scornful tone. Man, this woman was a piece of work.

She was about to take another sip of coffee, but must have thought better of it because she leaned forward and set the mug on the desk in front of her. “Please be careful about approaching my father. He had a heart attack last year. He shouldn’t be bothered about this.”

Anna shot Cullen a look, then said, “What do you remember about the day she left?”

“There we go again. Asking questions you already have the answers for.”

There was no emotion in her expression. Either she didn’t feel any or she did a damn good job of suppressing it. He was about to say something but held back. She seemed to want to piss him off. As if not giving a shit about her mother wasn’t already accomplishing that goal.

When they both just gave her blank looks, she said, “I came home from school and she wasn’t there. It was two decades ago. That’s all I remember.”

He said, “How can you not remember more?

She shrugged. “It may seem hard to believe, but if you don’t think about something, it’s easy to forget.”

He nodded. The explanation made sense. “Did you see her leave?”

“No, I did not.” She spoke slowly, emphasizing her words. “But everybody knew she wanted to leave.”