Hold Still (28 page)

FIFTY-FIVE

November 13th

Kevin stared at the evidence
voucher in his hand, the words blurring. He blinked, but it didn’t help. His eyes burned from fatigue and the hot, dry air in the Northwest Division. He only had a few items of paperwork to put in order before he could finish his shift—which had actually ended an hour ago. He moved the voucher closer to his face, but that only made it worse. He looked around and then reached into the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk and pulled out his reading glasses. He always resisted wearing them, but more and more he needed them. With a sigh, he took another look at the voucher.

“Much better,” he muttered to himself, the inevitability of age sinking like a stone into the pit of his stomach. He took a sip of cold coffee and fished the corresponding file from one of the piles on his desk, inserting the voucher into it.

He moved through his piles more quickly, until he was interrupted by a loud throat-clearing behind him. He swiveled his chair around, tucking his chin into his chest so he could peer over top of his reading glasses at Phil Delisi. Even at one a.m., the man looked perfectly pressed, and Kevin noted the chunky Michael Kors watch that Jocelyn had told him about peeking from the edge of his left shirtsleeve. He wore a suit and a long black wool coat. His brow was creased. “Where’s Jocelyn?” he asked.

Slowly, Kevin swiveled a half turn and looked at the clock on the wall, then back at Phil. “What do you need to talk to Rush about at one in the morning?”

Phil was not used to being questioned. It was all over him. The way he looked, the way he talked, the way he now stared at Kevin like he just fell off the damn turnip truck. “That’s between me and Rush,” he said.

Kevin spun his chair back to his desk and picked up another file. He adjusted his glasses and opened it in front of him.

An exasperated sigh sounded over his shoulder. Ignoring Phil, Kevin glanced up to see Finch walk up the steps and over to one of the other detectives to deposit some paperwork. The two conferred for a moment, and then Finch meandered toward the steps, glancing at each desk as he passed it.

“Sullivan,” Phil said, impatience edging his tone.

“Hey, Phil,” Kevin said loudly, without taking his eyes from Finch. “I ever tell you that story about the woman whose baby I delivered on a domestic?”

Phil’s voice went up an octave. He moved to the side of Kevin’s desk, trying to place himself in Kevin’s field of vision. “What?”

“Yeah,” Kevin went on. “I was on this domestic—drunk baby daddy versus giant pregnant lady. When I got there he had the door barricaded. I could hear her screaming in there. Finally, I talked him into letting me in. There she was on the couch bleeding from the head with this baby already crowning. So I zip tie the guy and get her to push. That baby popped right out.”

Finch, who had paused by the watercooler, began to walk back toward the steps. “So she tells me I can name the baby,” Kevin said. Phil moved around to the front of Kevin’s desk, nearly obstructing his view of Finch. Kevin glanced at him long enough to see the pulsing blue vein in his forehead. “You know what I chose?”

Phil slapped the desk, causing Finch to jump and a few of the other detectives to look over. Kevin smiled, catching Finch’s gaze.

“No, I don’t,” Phil said through gritted teeth. “And I don’t give a rat’s—”

“Rosalind,” Kevin said. He looked at Phil. “You know, like in Shakespeare? It’s a pretty name, don’t you think?”

Phil’s face had a sunburned look. Kevin turned his attention back to Finch. “You ever meet someone in real life with that name? It’s pretty uncommon.”

Finch poured himself a small cup of water from the watercooler. He stared into it, a smile playing on his lips. He swirled the fluid around. “That was my mother’s name,” he said.

Phil turned to look at Finch with another exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but—” he started, but Kevin talked over him, shutting him down.

“Was?” he asked Finch.

The smile never left his face. He tossed back the cup of water and threw the crumpled cup into the trash can. “Yeah,” he said. “She’s dead.”

“You don’t say,” Kevin replied.

“She had it coming,” Finch added, almost to himself.

“That’s an interesting thing to say about your own mother,” Kevin noted. “She any relation to the Rosalind Finch who was crucified in her Society Hill home, oh, about sixteen, seventeen years ago?”

The change in Finch’s face was instantaneous. It was a complete unmaking of his smug expression—his eyes and lips drooping, the skin of his cheeks turning gray. His eyes blinked rapidly and his nose twitched—almost as though it was involuntary. He managed a smile, as if trying to take control of his face again.

“Sullivan,” Phil said again, leaning over the desk so that he was practically in Kevin’s face. “Where is Rush?”

Kevin wheeled his chair to the side so he could look at the top of the stairwell, but Finch was gone. He took off his glasses and stood up, facing Phil, man to man. He poked a finger in the air, inches from Phil’s chest. “You leave Rush alone. There’s nothing you have to say that she needs to hear, unless you’re going to apologize for generally being a prick.”

Phil crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Kevin, his face hardening. The blue vein bulged. “You need to remember your place, Sullivan.”

Kevin laughed. He waved a hand around them. “This is my place, douche bag. You’re the one who doesn’t belong here, so why don’t you get out of here before I punch you in your pompous face.”

Phil’s eyes flashed. “Are you threatening me?”

“What do you think?”

Phil pointed at Kevin as he turned to leave. “You’ll be sorry.”

“Talk to my supervisor,” Kevin called after him.

He shook his head and eased back into his chair. Two reports later, his cell phone chirped. He smiled as he read the text from Kim Bottinger. Her shift had gone late as well. Did he want to get something to eat?

“Do I ever,” he said as he typed back to her, once again needing his glasses to see the tiny letters on the screen.
Meet you in 15
, he wrote.

He whistled his way down the steps, his thoughts turning to Rush, feeling somewhat guilty that he hadn’t been more receptive to her earlier. He’d have to have a longer conversation with her in the morning—especially about Friendly Fire. A few feet from his car, he pressed the Unlock button on his key fob, when, suddenly, pain exploded across the back of his head. He went down like someone had let the air out of him. His limbs felt like jelly. Only vaguely aware of his cheek scraping against the asphalt, rough hands flipped him onto his back. His eyes were open, at least he thought they were, but he couldn’t see anything. He blinked, but nothing happened. Another blink, and the world reappeared in a blurry haze of inky shadows and the soft orange glow of the parking lot lights. They were directly behind the person frantically searching his pockets, relieving him of his wallet, gun, and his Nicorette. The man’s face was a black smudge on Kevin’s blurred view of the world.

“Wha—” Kevin tried, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

“Shut up, old man,” his assailant said. “I’ve had it with you. You and your cunt partner.”

Rush.

“Don’t—” he began, but the world went black.

FIFTY-SIX

November 13th

It was nearly two a.m.
by the time Jocelyn got home, after checking in on Camille one more time. She tucked Olivia in and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. She removed the splint from her right wrist and wrapped it in a more flexible ACE bandage for sleeping. But she was wired from all the coffee and the drama of the night. She couldn’t believe the night was still going on—it had to be the longest of her life. Well, besides the nights she had had to stay up with a fussy, teething Olivia. She opened her refrigerator, staring at the contents without seeing them. She did the same with her kitchen cabinets before returning to the fridge. This time she pulled out a bottle of wine. She was trying to find a clean wineglass when she heard a soft knock on her door.

“Shit,” she said. She had left her gun upstairs. She snatched up her phone, trying to decide how she was going to handle a two a.m. visitor when she noticed the five additional text messages from Caleb, the last of which read,
I’m outside.

Instantly, the tension disappeared from her shoulders. She smiled as she pulled the door open and let him in. He leaned down to kiss her as she pushed the door closed behind him and turned the lock. She let her mouth linger on his before he pulled away. He motioned toward the steps. “I won’t wake Olivia, will I?”

Jocelyn beckoned him into the living room. She picked up the video monitor on her coffee table and tapped the tiny black-and-white screen. “I doubt it, but if you do, we’ll have some advanced notice.”

He took the handheld unit from her and studied it, turning it over in his hands. “Man,” he said, “I wish they had had these when Brian was a baby—would have saved me an awful lot of trouble.”

“Yeah, well that camera is staying in there until she’s twenty years old,” Jocelyn said wryly, returning the monitor to the coffee table. They sat side by side on the couch. “Do you have any news?” she asked.

He grimaced. “I stopped at Einstein and saw Camille,” he said. “Took her statement, but I don’t think it gives us anything we didn’t already have.”

Jocelyn nodded. The image of Camille in that bed with her hands and feet bandaged made Jocelyn’s chest hurt, so she changed the subject. “What’s the word on Raeann Church?”

Caleb cleared his throat. “The ME estimates that she’s been dead for forty-eight to seventy-two hours—hard to tell with her being in the water.”

“So, basically she was killed within a day of the press conference. Was it strangulation?”

“Yeah. Looks like whoever did it knocked her around a little before he killed her. There was no evidence of sexual assault.”

Jocelyn pressed against the edge of the coffee table with the balls of her feet, pushing against it just so—enough to feel a pinch in her feet but not enough to push the table away. “So much for a composite. We’re going to have to figure out how to spin this to the press. Did they get wind of the assault on Camille yet?”

“No, not that I know of. Listen, Jocelyn, these guys targeting your sister—it feels personal.”

“Because it is,” she replied. She sighed and leaned her head back into the couch cushions. She didn’t look at him as she recounted her conversation with Inez, who believed Phil was the third man as well as what Anita had found in her search of the Philadelphia newspaper archives. She reiterated the theories she had just discussed with Kevin about Kyle Finch, ending with, “It’s okay if you think I’m crazy. I got the feeling Kevin does.”

He reached out and gently turned her chin to face him. He pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and smiled. “I don’t think you’re crazy. Our next step would have been to look at people you’ve made enemies of, and by all indications, both Phil Delisi and Kyle Finch fit that designation. I will start checking alibis, and in the morning I’ll make a report to Internal Affairs.”

Jocelyn pulled his hand away from her face and held it. She closed her eyes for a moment to savor the immediate sense of relief she felt. It was a welcome feeling after the night she had had and the feelings she’d been grappling with right up until Caleb walked through her door—grief over what had happened to Camille and disappointment over Raeann Church’s murder. She still wasn’t comfortable with the idea that Phil could be the perpetrator, but it felt good to be taken seriously.

“But you know you can’t work this case anymore, right?” Caleb said.

Jocelyn smiled wanly. “I don’t really want to work this case anymore. I’d just love to go back to robberies, attempted murders, and domestics.”

Caleb smiled back. “Done. Look, I really want to stay with you, but I’ve got to get back to work. I’m on till eight in the morning—and I’ve got three very dangerous suspects to track down.”

She walked him to the door. He stopped, resting his hand on the doorknob and turned back to her. “We’re still looking for Warner and Donovan. We will get these guys,” he said.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jocelyn said.

“What’s that?” he asked, gazing down at her.

“Reassure me, all cop-like. I know how these things work.”

He nodded, his still hand lingering on the doorknob. “I’m sorry about Camille.”

Jocelyn managed another weak smile and nodded.

His brows drew together, his forehead wrinkling. “Are you okay?”

She was surprised how quickly tears stung the backs of her eyes. Of all the people she’d spoken to today, only Caleb had asked if she was okay.

“No,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I don’t think I am.”

“Oh, Jocelyn,” he said, his voice softening. His hand slid off the doorknob as he reached for her. He pulled her into his arms and she let him, her limbs going slack as he held her against him. She burrowed her face into the folds of his jacket, resting her head against his innermost layer of clothing. She could hear his heartbeat. He smelled like aftershave and coffee with a trace of cigarette smoke.

She sighed and closed her eyes, pushing every single thing out of her head except for the feel of him, the smell of him, and his touch. He was warm and solid, a wall keeping the world out, keeping the terrible thoughts from inundating her mind. She slid her hands beneath his jacket, around his waist and traced the hard planes of muscle up and down his back. She felt his heartbeat quicken against her cheek and smiled. Pulling one hand out from his jacket, she snaked it around the back of his neck. She only had to tug once, lightly, and his lips clamped down over hers. His tongue probed her mouth, gently and slowly. He gathered her in closer, his hands moving down over her ass. He broke from her mouth and met her eyes.

She stared back at him, unwavering. “Don’t stop touching me,” she whispered.

He smiled, eyes twinkling and bent his mouth to the hollow behind her ear. He kissed his way lightly across her throat to the other side of her neck, his tongue flicking against her skin. His breath caused a deep, hot flush that went from her scalp to her toes. Her heart pounded in her ears. She felt sensations in her body she couldn’t remember ever feeling—and something else, something entirely new to her: need.

She put both hands in his thick brown hair, trying to pull him closer to her. His hands roamed over her, reaching under her T-shirt, tracing the length of her spine. He pulled back to look in her eyes once more, the intensity in his gaze sending a shiver through her entire body. Then his mouth crashed down on hers, hungry, searching, claiming. She peeled his jacket off his shoulders, and it fell to the floor. His hands returned immediately to her body. She let go of him and pushed her sweatpants and underwear down over her hips. She shook her legs until they fell to her ankles. Using one foot, she pushed the bunched fabric down to the floor and stepped out of it. She did the same with her other foot and kicked her pants away.

Caleb pulled his mouth from hers when she started unbuckling his belt. “I’m on the job,” he murmured, even as his hands cupped her bare ass, branding her skin with their heat.

“Please don’t go,” she implored. “Not yet.”

He gasped as she thrust her hand into his pants and wrapped it firmly around his shaft. She freed him and worked her hand up and down the length of his hardness. His face was flushed, his head tipped back. His breathing was uneven, labored. “Jocelyn,” he said hoarsely.

Watching the effect she had on him turned her on even more than his touch did. Just like every other time they’d touched, it was nothing at all like things had been with Phil. She’d never had such an effect on Phil, and he’d never sent her reeling with pleasure before they even got to the act. This was new territory for her, and she didn’t want to stop.

“Jocelyn,” he said again.

She tipped her face up. “Kiss me,” she commanded.

Their mouths met again. She let go of him and pulled on his shoulders, hooking one leg around his thigh. He took her cue and lifted her easily, his large hands curling under her upper thighs. He set her on top of him, entering her slowly. She wrapped her legs around him, hooking her ankles together behind him.

“Oh,” she moaned, closing her eyes, concentrating only on the feel of him inside her and the sensation it provoked in her. There was nothing but this. For a few frantic, blissful moments, there was nothing bad. There were no heartless criminals, no rape victims, no tortured family history, no broken sister, no horrors. There was only this man making her feel good—taking her away from everything that hurt. She clasped her arms around his neck as he moved her atop him. He breathed jerkily into the hollow of her throat. She could feel herself tightening around him, pleasure starting as a slow tingle inside and spreading out in waves, encompassing her entire pelvis, making her legs quiver. He gripped her and turned so that her back pressed against the door, thrusting deeper into her, each thrust intensifying her climax. She bit her lower lip and buried her face in his neck to keep from crying out. He wasn’t far behind her, finishing with a series of shudders, groaning softly into her hair. He held her against him for a few moments. She felt his heartbeat thundering against her own.

“Wow,” he said as their breathing evened out.

“Yeah,” she agreed. He carried her awkwardly over to the couch and set her down, going back to the door to retrieve her sweatpants. She pulled them on while he buttoned his pants and righted himself. Then he knelt in front of her, his elbows on either side of her thighs. He rested his head on her chest, and she pushed her hands through his hair again, feeling slightly drunk on his closeness.

“I want to say I’m sorry—that wasn’t the way I imagined our first time—but I’m really not sorry because that was hot,” he said, smiling up at her sheepishly.

She laughed. “I’m not sorry either. If you didn’t have to work, I’d make you do it again.”

He kissed her throat, her chin, and then her mouth. “Oh, we’ll do it again,” he assured her.

The sound of Olivia sighing in her sleep startled them both. Caleb pointed at the monitor. “I should get going, in case she wakes up.”

Jocelyn nodded. This time she saw him to the door without incident. As she locked the door behind him, sleepiness finally overcame her. She trudged up to the bathroom to clean herself up and then to bed. She nestled her head into her pillow, pulling the collar of her T-shirt up over her mouth to smell him on her. Each time thoughts of Camille, Raeann Church, Warner, Donovan, and the third man crept into her mind, she pushed them aside and instead thought about the encounter with Caleb and the shock waves of pleasure still rolling through her lower body. She was asleep within minutes.