Her Marine Bodyguard (14 page)

“As long as you know you’re taken, I don’t care what label you put on it.” Satisfied she didn’t dwell on her fear, he grinned. She tugged her hand from his then slapped his shoulder.

“You’re mean.” The words lacked any real heat, especially when coupled with her giggle.

“I dunno, seems fair that to be your boyfriend I should ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Wanna go steady?”

“Promise to carry my books for me?” Her smile lit him up.

“Anywhere you want them to go.”

The teasing buoyed her mood, and she was still laughing when he parked in her garage. One nice thing about owning the converted warehouse studio, she had private parking and the automatic door. The problem with it was the time delay between opening, parking, and closing it again. The blind spots created by the vehicle, coupled with distraction, meant anyone could slip in if she didn’t pay attention.

“You stay right with me,” he told her before getting out of the car. “In my line of sight and within arm’s reach.”

“I promise.” Nothing playful or light marked her response—not even a teasing, sir, yes, sir. Her earlier limp was slightly more pronounced after the car ride. Bruises had a tendency to stiffen, and hers were still in the ugly, dark-colored stage. He left their bags in the car for now and walked with her through a second door to the empty first floor of the warehouse in time to hear the knock on the front door.

Brody checked his watch. One minute to ten. Detective Foster was prompt. The impeccable timing also distracted Shannon from the dark stain on the concrete and the debris left over from the paramedics. No one had cleaned up the crime scene.

Keeping Shannon next to him, he swept a glance over the empty area. It had far too many shadows amidst the pools of muted sunlight filtered through dirty windows. A check through the peephole revealed a man in a pair of slacks, dress shirt, and suit jacket that had all seen better days.

“Describe Foster to me.”

She’d stayed with him, and a half step behind exactly as he’d asked. “Mid-thirties. Dirty blond hair, almost brown. Green eyes. Firm mouth, lower lip slightly larger than his upper, white scar cutting the upper lip on the right side about halfway between the midline and the corner of his mouth. Crescent-shaped scar on his right cheekbone, a couple of centimeters below his eye. Oval-shaped jaw, high brow line, eyes a little asymmetrical, and at least two notches in his nose.”

Since the man outside resembled her description exactly, Brody opened the door. “Detective.”

“Lieutenant.” Foster held up his badge, but Brody gave it a cursory inspection and nodded. Withdrawing a step, Brody let the detective inside and studied the cop, well aware he received similar scrutiny in return. “Last time I checked, you were supposed to be in Afghanistan, Lieutenant Essex.”

“He’s been due home on leave for a while,” Shannon answered as she placed her hand on his biceps. She’d moved closer to him. Foster, she’d said earlier, didn’t like her much. Maybe what she’d meant is she didn’t like him—or perhaps she was simply uncomfortable. “I’m lucky he was able to come home now.”

“Maybe too lucky. Mind telling me where you were three nights ago, Lieutenant?”

Shannon bristled at the implication. “Brody is not the one who—”

“Shh.” He caught her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze but didn’t take his gaze off the detective. “It’s a fair question, and he’s doing his job.” But if he didn’t back it down a step, Brody might get brought up on charges of assault. He appreciated hardass with the best of them, but not at her expense. “I was in Afghanistan. You can check with my CO or any of my men. You can also check arrivals at DFW yesterday morning. That’s when I landed.”

Foster nodded once, but his jaw tightened a fraction. The detective looked at Shannon briefly and then back to Brody, but whatever thoughts he considered, he kept them off his face. “All right. You asked me to walk you through what we knew. So here I am. Miss Fabray, you don’t have to listen if you’re going to be uncomfortable.”

The consideration raised Brody’s estimation of the man, but it wasn’t open for debate. “She doesn’t leave my sight.”

“And going over it again might jar my memory,” Shannon admitted. They hadn’t discussed that aspect in the car. His woman was smart and brave.

“All right. Let’s go over the night of the attempted kidnapping,” Foster took the lead and pointed to the steel door. “Our perp did not enter here, though he did exit. There’s a secondary egress located in the back of the building that should have been sealed. It had new hinges, and the old boards had been removed.”

Brody went cold. The work had taken forethought and planning. Foster led them to the door.

“Far as we can tell, the work could have been done any time in the last few months. There’s no alarm system hooked up to this door, and no cameras facing the alley. According to statements we took from your manager and agent, you don’t use this level other than to enter at the front and take the elevator up.” He glanced at Shannon for confirmation.

“I don’t. I have plans for it eventually, but….” She shrugged. “That’s later.”

“Right. So, this door had been replaced, and it’s got a locking mechanism. Easy enough for the perp to enter and exit through here without anyone knowing.” The door in question currently had a crossbar on it. “We’ve sealed it for now, and techs took finger prints. They found a couple of smudged prints, so they may or may not provide us with some answers. Now, when I talked to Morgan, he and Bates found this door on their initial inspection, but it was secured. Both assumed you had a key.” Again, he deferred to Shannon for confirmation.

“No one asked me.” The knowledge troubled her, and she worried her lower lip while she stared at the door. “Does this mean whoever this guy is, he’s been able to come and go?”

“Yes.” Foster didn’t blunt the informational blow. “But we suspected as much because the letters were hand delivered. They had no stamps or mailing codes on them. But we’re going to come back to that.”

So whoever kept coming after her had access at any point? Brody scowled, but stayed focused on the intel.

Foster led them back toward the side stairs and elevator. “Two nights ago, a thunderstorm rolled in. Pretty typical storm.”

“It knocked the power out.” Shannon rubbed her opposite arm, as if cold.

“No, it didn’t.” Foster pulled out a penlight and shone it on the fuse box. “He turned the power off.”

“He was already inside when Katrina came downstairs.” Her jaw tightened, but anger, not fear, flashed in her eyes.

“Exactly. He had to know she was here, he shut it off, and waited for her.” Shifting to the side, Foster took a position across from the stairwell. Miming a gun motion with his right hand, he pointed it toward the open door leading up to Shannon’s loft. “He waited right here. When she came down…pop. You didn’t hear a gunshot?”

“No.” Shannon shook her head. “But I’d just gotten out of the shower on the opposite side of the loft from the stairs.” Good girl, she was thinking, not just reacting. “The storm was really loud…even the rain beating on the roof is really loud here, not to mention the thunder and the lightning. I don’t remember hearing anything sounding like a gunshot.”

“So, let’s assume he had a silencer. He took out Katrina as soon as she reached the last step.” Foster used the penlight to show them the floor. Darker stains discolored the raw cement. “He waited here until you came to check on her.”

“What if I hadn’t?”

“You were coming down, babe,” Brody answered before Foster could. “You knew she’d headed down here, and then the lights didn’t come back on. You were going to check on her. It wasn’t a matter of if, only when.”

This guy had planned. Brody studied the layout of the empty first floor—wide open, with only the support columns providing any kind of cover. A scattering of overhead lights would give the deeper dark a dingy kind of illumination, but at night, during a storm with the power out?

The perfect trap.

Especially with Katrina’s presence offering Shannon the illusion of safety. Gripping her upper arm, he drew her closer to him. Her wobbly smile flashed gratitude in his direction. The patience of this stalker, the details—they suggested a long-term kind of interest. Something had escalated him, but no flash in the pan. He’d been on a slow burn.

“You still good?” The detective’s attention remained on Shannon. Because Foster took the time to ask earned him another point in Brody’s estimation.

“Creeped out, but I’m okay.” She leaned into Brody, and he got what she didn’t say. She felt safer because of his presence. Precisely why he’d come.

“You came down the stairs here,” Foster pointed. “You up for walking us through the rest?”

Despite his laid back manner, Foster proved capable. His attention didn’t waver from Shannon, but he didn’t stare. By passing the decision of whether she would repeat what happened to her, he reduced the pressure. Slow and halting at first, Shannon repeated the sequence of events with only the hitches of her breath revealing the fear, but when she described the trip to the car, Foster frowned.

“After, he tossed me in the car, got in the front, and started the engine. That’s when I got the door open and pushed myself out. I hit the ground and ran.” At her shiver, Brody slid his arm around her. “And you know the rest.”

Taking his cue, Foster said, “You said you woke up when you were upside down and he was carrying you out of the building to the car?”

“Yes.”

“How long do you think you were out?” The detective’s very deliberate use of odd phrasing set off another warning bell for Brody.

“I don’t know. Not long? I panicked.” Shannon frowned. “It feels like I blinked. We were in here, then we were out there.”

“But you don’t remember when he bound your hands.” The detective pressed.

“Why does it matter?” Brody pinned Foster with a hard, disapproving stare. “You’re trying to get to a point, so get there. Faster.”

With a nod, Foster pointed to the front door. “Zip-cording her wrists? Ten maybe twenty seconds if she were still struggling, far less because she wasn’t. It’s no more than ten feet from here to the door. Maybe another twenty feet to the car parked across the street. Carrying one hundred and thirty pounds, I could do it in a few seconds. So, less than a minute from grabbing her to out the door….”

“You think it took longer.” Brody frowned. “Why? What have you gotten off the letters?”

“It could be days before we have the full report.” Unfortunately, forensic science didn’t function in real life like it did on television. “As for taking longer, yes. I think it did. But the question is what was he doing? He didn’t kill Bates. She was bleeding out on the floor. Gut wounds are a bitch of a way to go, but they’re also slow.”

“He didn’t want to kill her,” Shannon said in a soft voice. “I’d shut down, he could have gotten me out and to the car and been away before I stopped freaking out, but he hesitated over leaving Katrina….”

Foster snapped his fingers. “Exactly. I checked with the 9-1-1 operations center. They had two hang-up calls within seconds of each other…about five minutes before the call from the club you ran to.”

Fuck
. Brody blew out a breath. “He thought about calling an ambulance….”

“Hang up calls?” Shannon frowned. “Did they come from here? My landline?”

“No, the number was the same on both and traced back to a burner.” Foster shrugged. “But it’s a good sign.”

Brody agreed. The man may have planned it down, but he’d hesitated to kill Bates outright, and he’d considered calling for help. That he ended up doing neither meant he was conflicted—or at least he’d been the night of the kidnapping attempt. Taking Shannon…had it been part of the plan? Or a spur of the moment decision? “What about the content of the letters?”

“Definitely male in tone. Definitely has some kind of education, enough apparently to use correct grammar and punctuation. Obsessed—” Though Shannon had seemed to withdraw into herself, Foster still lowered his voice. “—with Shannon
and
her work. One of the psych workups suggested he has a problem with the military in general and likely you in particular.”

That made two of them. Brody definitely had a problem with the guy in question. “I think we should take a break from this and let her get back to work.” Shannon would think better after she’d carved for a while. If she worked, he could also have a more in-depth conversation with Foster.

He sent Foster ahead of them on the stairs and followed behind her, one step below. Close enough to pull her out of the way and covering her directly. He tossed her keys up to Foster to unlock the inner door, and they followed him into her place.

“What I don’t understand is, what was the purpose? Was it to hurt me?” Shannon paused at the top of the steps. “Or take me? Why
take
me?”

“That is actually one of my questions. We went over your financials, you’re doing well, but you’re not wealthy.” Foster stayed three steps ahead of them, and Brody scanned the room. So much of it remained exactly as he remembered—the blocks of stone, the draping, the work tools and tables.

On his last visit, he’d seen dust and some debris from her work—not rubble. Alarm fired through him, and he caught Shannon’s arm and tugged her behind him.

Foster drew his gun. “Stay here,” he ordered, and Brody nodded, tucking Shannon more firmly to the wall and planting himself in front of her while the detective swept the room.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered. The ragged despair in her words confirmed his suspicion.

The smashed piles on every table shouldn’t be there.

“He destroyed them.”

More people in her place, more cops, more technicians, and through it all, Brody took the lead. Foster cautioned them against touching anything. He and Brody discussed everything in some kind of verbal shorthand, leaving her out of the loop, and for once, Shannon didn’t care. The smashed remains of several weeks’ worth of work were all she could see. In reality, the practice pieces weren’t a huge loss, but their destruction left a bruise on her heart. The rebar driven into Rebel’s piece, however, crushed her.