Kansas City Christmas (3 page)

“Yes. I’ll get to it. And no.” Holly grinned. “So, what’s going on that’s so important you needed to stay up past your bedtime and chat before our regular Friday lunch?”

Several minutes later, Holly was pacing in front of the windows that separated her office from the darkened lab and the autopsy room beyond. This close to the holidays, the crime lab ran a skeleton crew at night. Other than the derelict John Doe lying in the morgue, Holly was alone in the basement. She knew lab techs on the floors above her were monitoring ongoing fiber trace tests and editing background noise off some security camera footage. And she was having one of her own team members rerun a ballistics test on what she’d dubbed a disintegrating bullet—a mysterious new design of deadly ammunition that had shown up in several autopsies this year. Unfortunately, even by the time she’d discovered them inside the murder victims, the bullets had already begun to decompose, making it impossible to read striations and trace them back to the gun that fired it. They’d be lucky if her ballistics specialist, Rick Temple, could determine the manufacturer and caliber of the bullet.

But that was all backlog work. Without any pressing case demands, Holly herself had been making the most of the relatively quiet night—destressing with some music and reading through hard copies of reports. Ever since a virus introduced by an offsite hacker had destroyed several computer records back in April, she’d been using slow nights like this one to rebuild files and rerun tests where there was still evidence available. She took pride in her team’s clean chain-of-evidence record, and it galled her to think that one happy hacker could throw a monkey wrench into what had previously been solid cases, forcing investigations to be delayed or even circumstantial corroboration to be tossed out of ongoing trials. It was a matter of professional pride for Holly to make those evidence reports right again. For the victims in those cases, it was a matter of justice.

But with Eli’s phone call, a much more personal stress had returned. She’d find a way to handle this one, too. Raking her fingers through her short, dark hair, she repeated her argument to her brother.

“Jillian will be just fine. She came out of rehab a lot stronger than either of us expected, so you know that hardheaded Masterson gene is in her somewhere.” Eli had been worried about his other sister, not her, after all. “There’s no need for you and Shauna to cancel your holiday cruise. Between your job with the D.A.’s office and her responsibilities running KCPD, you two have never even had a honeymoon. And you’ve been married almost two years. Go. Have a merry Christmas. Not having to worry about our little sister is my gift to you.”

But Eli wasn’t convinced. “It’s not Jillian who concerns me. If that Blake Rivers bastard is back in town, then you know he’s going to put pressure on her to get back together with him. I swear to God, Holl, after all those years with the drugs when we thought we might lose her, Jillian is finally on a healthy, positive track. She’s gone back to college. She’s volunteering with those kids at the youth center. If getting back with her old spoiled, party-time boyfriend knocks her off her game again…”

“You’ll do what? You know, just because you’re not a cop anymore doesn’t mean you don’t have to follow the rules.”

“I didn’t follow them when I
was
a cop.”

Holly tucked her long bangs behind one ear, nodding her head in wry agreement. Following the rules was one Masterson trait that was uniquely hers. “We have to give Jillian the chance to make her own decisions and then stand up to the consequences on her own. We can’t bulldoze in and take care of everything for her. That’d just be a form of co-dependency all over again.”

The flicker of a shadow moved past the translucent glass door leading to the hallway, interrupting her thoughts and pacing. She
was
alone down here, wasn’t she? That’s why she’d dimmed the lights outside her office. No sense wasting the energy if she was the only one working in the lab. John Doe certainly didn’t need the light.

She stared hard at the clouded glass, waiting for the movement in the hallway to repeat itself. She wasn’t one to doubt what she’d seen, but she did like to have an explanation for things—be it an overnight cleaning staff employee coming in early, an electric short in one of the hallway lights, or even something as arcane as a ghost. She just wanted to know.

The glass darkened for an instant as the shadow passed by in the opposite direction.

“Holly?”

Jumping inside her skin at the prompt of Eli’s voice, she turned away from the distraction and focused on making her point. “You and Shauna need to get on that plane tomorrow and fly to Florida. Take your cruise. Enjoy it. Jillian needs to be the one to tell Blake where to get off if he tries to rekindle a relationship she’s not interested in.”

“What if she
is
interested? What if Rivers won’t take no for an answer? I’ll be a thousand miles away.”

“You’ll be right where you should be. With your wife.” Holly circled around behind her desk, double-checking the duty log and silently accounting for all the staff and techs scheduled to be in the building at this hour. “I can look out for Jillian. And I’ll handle Blake, too, if he causes trouble.”

“I always could count on you to be the sensible one.” Some of the tension eased from Eli’s voice and she could imagine him smiling. “All right. I’ll go. I’ll have my phone, though. If you need anything, call me.”

“No. I won’t. If something comes up, I’ll take care of it myself.” With one part of her brain still marking off people she’d seen in their labs, offices or the break room, Holly tried to put her brother completely at ease. He had a honeymoon to get to, after all. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl. So is Jillian. The two of us have already planned to have Christmas dinner and exchange gifts. We’ll be fine. Have a wonderful trip. Put on some sunscreen and give my love to Shauna.”

Eli hesitated for a moment, but ultimately, he gave in. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“All right. I’ll do my best to enjoy some quality time alone with my gorgeous wife.” Holly smiled as she was meant to and he continued, “Love you, sis.”

Though she suspected he’d leave his phone on 24/7—just in case—he conceded that at thirty-five, with a doctor’s degree and a demanding job, she was a big enough girl to handle herself and their sister’s ex-boyfriend if need be. “Love you, too, Eli. Bon voyage.”

After hanging up, Holly checked the clock on the wall in her office. A few minutes past midnight. Time to shut things down and head out.

But though she turned off her computer and locked up the hard copies of the files she’d had out, Holly Masterson wasn’t about to leave her lab until the mystery of the out-of-place shadow was resolved. She turned on her cell phone in case Jillian called and dropped it into her lab coat pocket. After closing the office door behind her, she flipped on the lights and ventured out into the bright, chilly sterility of the lab. Pausing only to turn off the colored lights on the miniature artificial Christmas tree she’d set on one of the stainless steel counters, she made a quick circle around the empty room, peeked in on John Doe in his drawer, then headed for the hallway door.

There, she turned off all the interior lights again and waited. If there was a short in one of the hall sconces that was going on and off and creating the illusion of shadows, it would be easy to spot from this vantage point.
Wait for it. Wait for it
. “Hmm. No problem with the lights.”

Checking that possibility off her list, she opened the door a crack and listened for sounds. No ding of the elevator’s bell, no whir of it rising on its cables and pulleys. No footsteps. Nothing beyond the endless whoosh from the heating vents, trying to warm up the common areas of the building to a more humane environment than the cooler temps used in the labs. So she
was
alone. Unwilling to give much credence to the ghost theory, Holly deduced that someone had walked past the door—twice—while she’d been on the phone with Eli. Someone who was lost because her lab, office and the autopsy room were the only destinations on this level. Yet no one had come in. Asked for directions. Shown up to ID the body in her morgue. So, who would be wandering through the basement at this time of night?

No one, apparently. It was probably the late hour that had her spooked. “Give it a rest, girl.”

Ignoring the twinge of annoyance that she couldn’t solve a simple mystery, Holly pulled the door shut behind her and jogged up the stairs to the first floor. The stairwell proved empty as well, and since she hadn’t heard the elevator moving, there was no sense looking there. She nodded to the guard manning the reception desk on her way to the locker rooms at the rear of the building. But the need to find an answer just wouldn’t go away.

Holly fisted her hands inside the pockets of her white coat and turned back to the guard. “Floyd? Did you see anyone going down to the basement? Within the last ten minutes or so?”

He looked up from the paper he was reading. “No, ma’am. No one’s been in or out the lobby for the past hour. The cleaning crew’s not set to come until one.”

“None of the guards were making rounds downstairs, were they?”

“Not that I know of. Is there a problem, Doctor?”

Holly shook her head and smiled. “I thought I saw someone down there, but no one checked in with me at my office.”

Floyd reached for his cap. “Would you like me to run down and sweep for an intruder?”

“No, no.” She waved him back to his seat. “There are only so many ways to get in or out of the basement, and if you didn’t see anyone on the elevator or the stairs…?”

He wrinkled up his forehead with an apology. “Not for the past hour, ma’am. Not until you came out that door just now.”

“Okay. Well, maybe I just imagined the company.” She didn’t quite believe that, but without any evidence or witnesses to the contrary, there was nothing to do but go home. “Good night, Floyd. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, ma’am.”

Once inside the locker room, Holly shed her lab coat and hung it inside her locker. Since she’d already traded her surgical blues for warm jeans and a turtleneck sweater after completing John Doe’s autopsy, changing for the drive home only meant bundling up for the winter weather outside. Pushing aside the gun and holster she wore on field calls, Holly pulled her teal-green stocking cap and matching scarf from the top shelf.

Once she had her coat buttoned up, she turned on the blinking red nose of the Rudolph pin at her lapel. The gaudy reindeer jewelry was a testament to her late mother, who’d loved to decorate and celebrate the holidays in a big way. Her parents had been gone for fifteen years, her family fractured. But over the years, she’d grown closer to Eli and Jillian than they’d ever been as children. Now, instead of missing her parents, she paid homage to them by maintaining some of their happiest—and goofiest—traditions. Touching the pin and feeling a loving smile from somewhere in Heaven, Holly grabbed her purse and gloves and headed for the exit.

If she was lucky, the streets would be cleared, the traffic would be light and she could get home to her apartment and get some decent sleep before she had to report for work again in the morning.

She had just pulled one glove on when her cell phone rang. Surely Eli wasn’t calling for another round of how she and Jillian couldn’t survive without big brother in the house.

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her phone. The same familiar word instead of a number stared back at her.

Unnamed
.

“Okay, fella.” Breathing out a weary sigh, Holly opened the phone. “Hello?”

Nothing. But the connection was live. She could hear the faint hiss of shallow breathing in the background.

“Hey. I know you’re there. You have the wrong number. You need to stop calling me.” More silence. Not even so much as a suggestive or crude message if that was his intent. Just…someone listening. “Who is this?”

Click
.

She jerked the phone from her ear as if the soft disconnect had been a zap of static electricity.

What the hell kind of psych game was this? Holly snapped the phone shut and dropped it into her purse as she pushed open the door to the main hallway. “Idiot.”

A blur of white lunged at her from around the corner. “Gotcha!”

Holly yelped, automatically punching at the man who’d startled her while her heart was already thumping in her chest. “Damn it, Rick!”

Guffaws of deep-pitched laughter faded into a wide toothy grin on Rick Temple’s clean-shaven face. “Oh, that one was priceless. If you could see your expression.” He rubbed at a spot on his shoulder. “But you’ve got a mean punch, Doc.”

Talk about idiots. How one man could know so much about forensic science and yet beans about interacting with people in a mature, normal way eluded her. “What are you, in junior high? Sorry about the bruise, but startling the crap out of me is not funny.”

“Depends on your perspective.”

Holly flashed a grin that was more of a sneer than sincere.

“You’re a grown man. One of these days you’re going to have to start acting like one. These practical jokes are hard on my blood pressure.”

“Oh, but you make it too easy, lady. Walking around all serious, focused all the time. I’ve got to lighten you up.”

“Giving me gray hairs isn’t the kind of lightness I find amusing.”

“You’re not that old, Doc. You’ve got to start having some fun.” At least he had the decency to retrieve the glove she’d dropped. She knew him to be thirty-two years old, but the grin he still wore looked two decades younger as he handed over the glove. “Think of these little encounters as my way of keeping you on your toes.”

Did he think she wasn’t doing her job? The corrupted evidence files she’d been trying to re-create made her prickle a little more defensively than usual. Not for the first time, she wondered how much of Rick’s teasing was really a warped sense of humor and how much might be resentment that
she’d
gotten the supervisory job that they’d both applied for. It might be wise for her to remind him who was in charge. “You know, Rick, if you weren’t as good at your job as you are, I might have to write you up for your…personality quirks. If any of your jokes interfere with anyone’s ability to do their job…”